Strange New World
by EtchedInDiamond
Summary: After a drop gone awry on a seemingly harmless Halo Installation, the Rookie finds himself on an alien world. With the help of a strange smuggler and his wookie friend, he gets into all sorts of trouble, and eventually joins a fledgeling rebellion...
1. The Drop

**AN: It feels goooooood to be back in this particular genre, although it isn't in the way I had expected. To those who have read my profile, you know that this story was one of my ideas that I planned to write once I finished the HaloSWEndwar saga. Well, that plan has gone officially FUBAR. I put Breaking Point on hold until the proper inspiration strikes me, so in the meantime, I decided to indulge you with this. Please, enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: **_**I do not own anything. Star Wars belongs to LucasArts, and Halo belongs to Bungie/343 Industries. All OC's are mine, naturally. **_

THE ROOKIE: SMUGGLER

**1609 hours, April 28, 2559 (Military Calendar) \ Epsilon Indi System, Far Space**

**Encryption Code: RED**

**Public Key: NONE**

**From: CODE NAME ****OLD BARD**

**To: Fl. Adm. Terrence Hood, Special Attaché, FLEETCOM, United Nations Security Council, UNSCMID: 091101276**

**Subject: Emergency Alert Status**

**Classification: RESTRICTED (XXXX-XD Directive)**

/START FILE/DECRYPTION PROTOCOL/

**FLASH TRANSMISSION TO UNSC HEADQUARTERS SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA**

OLD BARD DIRECTED TO FL. ADM. TERRENCE HOOD-EYES ONLY

**INSTALLATION 03 FOUND**

ENCOUNTERED IMMEDIATELY AFTER SLISPACE TRANSITION. FORERUNNER PROTOCOL INITIATED. ALL SHIPS LOCKED DOWN. NO EXPORT OR IMPORT THRU SPACE TO NEIGHBORING CRAFTS. SCANNED SURFACE OF ARTIFICIAL CONSTRUCT-NO FLOOD FORMS DETECTED. WILL NOT TERMINATE PROTOCOL. FLOOD CAN BE CONTAINED UNDERNEATH SURFACE, MUCH LIKE THE OTHER INSTALLATIONS.

SOME SECTIONS OF THE RING'S BIOSPHERE CAN SUPPORT HUMAN LIFE. MOST CONSIST OF VOLCANIC TERRAIN WITH ENOUGH HEAT TO MELT THE HULL OF UNSC FRIGATE. THE AREA HOLDING THE CONTROL ROOM IS LOCATED A FEW KILOMETERS OFF THE "NORTH POLE" OF THE RING. PER GENERAL ORDER 99.98.122, I HAVE BEEN GRANTED AUTHORIZATION TO TAKE COMMAND OF ALL UNSC FORCES WITHIN THE DESIGNATED AREA.

SENDING A TEAM OF **ORBITAL DROP SHOCK TROOPERS** TO SEARCH CONTROL ROOM. ODST TEAM PREPPING FOR DROP.

/END/

/PRESS DELETE/

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

"Alright boys, get set for a combat drop!" Capt. Veronica Dare announced, slamming a fresh magazine into her assault rifle.

The ODSTs were gathered in "Hell's Waiting Room", the infamous drop pod bay that catered especially to the UNSC Special Forces troopers. Rows upon rows of black, utilitarian compartments waited on either side of the thin hall, dark and menacing.

Once ejected, the pods would fall into space, eventually entering the atmosphere. There, the nerve-wracked man or woman inside could only pray for survival.

Every ODST knew this. It was a fact in the orbital trooper's reserved knowledge. It wasn't the fall that scared these warriors, or even the landing.

It was their target they feared.

"Send me to an Insurgent hive!" Lance Corporal Kojo Aju, a.k.a "Romeo" cried. He was a big black man, large enough to intimidate even a brawny Jiralhanae. "A Loyalist ship! I don't give a rat's ass about that! Anything but a fucking Halo ring!"

"Stow it, Romeo," Edward Buck, or just Buck for short, replied, donning his helmet. Having had the dubious honor of fighting in almost every major battle in the Human-Covenant War, he had skills no other man could easily boast. Although he was thick-skinned and short tempered, he was every inch the team leader. Well, he used to be. "We do what the brass wants us to, and that's that."

"That's exactly it," Romeo exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "We're like their pets. What do they care if we get eaten alive by Flood? Just unexpected casualties, that's all!"

"What's with the sudden change of attitude, Romes?" Corporal Taylor H. Miles, "Dutch", called. Dutch, a big man with a big heart, had a love for big guns and shooting shit. To put it shortly, he was a valuable asset. He popped open the lid of the first pod. "You never really vented so much about the big guys at Sydney."

"Yeah, well, getting dumped in a God damned Halo installation does nothing for my temper." he grumbled.

"Sheesh, lighten up Romeo." PFC Michael, "Mickey", Crespo interjected. He retrieved a M41 Surface-to-Surface Rocket Medium Anti-Vehicle/Assault Weapon from a nearby rack. Having the honor of being the explosive ordnance expert, the unofficial pilot, and the CQC expert, he could kill stuff with a bomb, a plane, _and_ his hands. Needless to say, Dutch would often find himself envying the man. "There's probably nothing there. Like the AI said, there's nothing Flood-like on the whole surface. Plus, any flimsy parasite sack would disintegrate from the heat."

"Whatever," Dutch mumbled, putting on his helmet. "What've you got to say about it, Rookie? Rookie? Shit, look, he's sleeping again."

Sure enough, the newest member of "The Squad" was fast asleep in the corner of the room. No one knew his real name, apparently. Too much black ink. He was the only surviving member of some op gone wrong in the past. After getting placed with them, he had proved himself a skilled warrior, able to navigate through New Mombasa to rescue his squad mates, all the while killing any Covenant who dared get in his way.

So far, the man never took off his helmet. No one knew what he looked like.

Romeo stalked over to the Rookie's prone form and kicked him in the thigh.

"Romeo!" Dare snapped, her blond hair swinging even though it was tied securely in a ponytail. "Don't kick him."

"Ah, who cares, he's not even-"

The Rookie's hand shot out like lightning, gripping Romeo's ankle before he could move away. The ODST leaned over and twisted.

Romeo yelped. The big trooper fell to the floor hard.

"What the hell?" he yelled, blushing inside his black helmet as the other guys guffawed.

The silent warrior wagged his finger at the fallen trooper. Dare allowed herself a little smile.

"Alright boys, enough playtime. We've got a job to do." she said.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

"Fuck! It's HOT!" Mickey exclaimed, prying himself away from the steaming drop pod.

"Quit bitchin', Mick," Buck replied, detaching his assault rifle from the pod's weapons canister. "Can't stand the heat?"

The pods had landed in the middle of a scorching desert, volcanic peaks clearly visible in the distance. The Rookie looked down at his DMR. The metal skin was starting to smoke a little.

"See that structure?" Dare cut in over TEAMCOM. In the haze, her little figure pointed to a gleaming Forerunner structure against a wall of cliffs. "That's our objective. We secure it, give the go signal, then wait for pick-up."

Dutch walked over, supporting Romeo's slumped form. The two large men looked identical in their black matte ODST armor.

"Fine day out, hmm?" Dutch said, in a surprisingly jovial tone.

"Fuck you, Dutch," Romeo croaked. "Not all of us spent most of their life driving trucks in fricking Mars, for God's sakes."

Dutch ignored him, instead humming into the COM like a schoolgirl on a sugar rush.

The ODSTs started forward moving into a familiar sweeping pattern as they traversed the sandy terrain. They moved in utter silence, nothing save for the wind disrupting their COM links. They came within a hundred meters of the huge Forerunner structure. It looked just like the other Control Rooms in the known Halo installations. Vaguely pyramid-like, with an obelisk jutting at the top.

"Finally," Romeo wheezed. "I hope the Forerunners had air-conditioning, because I'm-"

Almost instantly, the temperature dropped twenty degrees.

Dare signaled for a halt. They crouched warily, momentarily shocked by the sudden change in the weather. The terrain and sky hadn't changed; it was still a dull red and brown. It was as if God had brushed a giant ice pack through the Control's Room's area, instantly cooling it. Buck was the first to recover, walking in front of the Control Room ramp entrance. Glowing sigils told the direction of the upper balcony.

"Well, that's convenient," he said, resting his rifle on his padded shoulder.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The giant doors opened with a steady hiss. The Rookie peered into the entrance, the barrel of his gun poised directly in front of him.

It was a vast corridor, as large as a frigate in width and height. They walked atop a metal walkway poking out from the entrance and out into the center of the room. An obelisk jutted from the bottom of the gray, spherical chamber, ringed at the top by an all-too familiar holographic structure.

"Is that a hologram of the whole damn Halo ring?" Mickey whispered in awe.

He took off his helmet, revealing his middle-aged, crisp features. A shade of stubble covered the bottom half of his pale face.

"Looks like it," Dare answered, she herself amazed. She refused to take off her helmet, however. "Put that helmet back on ASAP, private."

"Yes, sir," he replied, donning his black ODST helm. "Sheesh," he whispered under his breath.

The captain fixed her eyes on Crespo.

"Sorry."

The ODST team stood there awkwardly for a moment, part in awe and in helplessness. The objective had been reached. Dare had already set the signaling device, and they had been told pick-up would follow soon after. However, all was silent.

"The hell?" Romeo murmured, turning around to examine the entrance. No one was coming in.

"Veronica," Buck snapped. "What in God's name is going on here?"

"I don't know, _Buck_," she barked back. "All I'm getting is static."

"Does this place interfere with COMs or something?" Dutch put in.

"Could be," Dare sighed. "It doesn't matter. All we can do is wait. We were told to stay inside the Control Room, and that's what we're going to do."

The Squad stood there for a few more minutes, most of them itching to get out of the eerie Forerunner structure. As of now, the heat seemed a much more welcome environment than the dull silence of the Control Room. The Rookie placed his weight on one leg, and then on the other. He was agitated, and he didn't know why. He looked at Dare.

The female captain seemed to read her man's unease in a heartbeat. When the Rookie felt something was wrong, then something was definitely wrong.

"Okay, damn protocol, we're pulling out," she ordered nervously. She hefted her rifle and motioned to the door. "Something's wrong."

Just as they were about to head out, the control panel at the head of the walkway fizzled, and a giant figure sprung from the digital console.

"_Where do you think you're going?"_

TheOld Bard was a sixth-generation AI, the latest of his kind. He chose to style himself in the guise of a famous playwright that had lived many hundreds of years in the past, a man who had went by the name of Shakespeare. He was an incredibly literate figure, as was the Old Bard. Shakespeare was his idol, if AIs had any. He dressed in Elizabethan Age garb: a stylish petticoat, tight leggings, and a colorful waistcoat and frilly collar. Even his mustache was combed and curled to resemble the playwright.

"Finally," Dare sighed in relief. She didn't want to show her suspicion at the AI's late arrival. "We thought we had lost you. When's the pick-up arriving?"

"_I am afraid that your departure must be delayed for quite some time, Captain Veronica Dare. Recent revelations have somewhat…soured our implications of previous known judgments."_

"What?" Romeo asked bluntly, confused.

"_What I mean to say, Lance Corporal Kojo Aju, is that this Halo ring hides more than what we presumed._"

"Great," Buck interjected, unable to hide his unease and tension. "Now can we leave? We did what you wanted."

The Old Bard, who now loomed above them, arched a digital eyebrow.

"_My apologies, Gunnery Sergeant Edward Buck, but this newfound information has barred your previous pick-up. We cannot allow anyone who has entered the Control Room leave without a proper examination."_

"What, are you going to pull our pants down, hold our goodies, and tell us to cough twice?" Romeo remarked harshly. "What can possibly infect us in a matter of seconds? Flood? I don't see any Flood here!"

"_You forget Flood spores, corporal, which to the human eye is near invisible. At least its smallest form is. You are right; however, there are no micro biotic Flood forms present in the environment."_

"Then let us go," Buck responded, spreading his arms wide.

"_I cannot allow that, Edward. We do not know what the Forerunners speak of in their glyphs. So far, I have only been able to infer that they implemented a "Last, Last, Last Resort" to their Halo Array. As of now, I do not know what will happen. To be safe, you must remain here as I work as close as I can get."_

He ended it with that, promptly turning his back on them and working on the console. The ODSTs were beside themselves. Romeo stalked over to the busy AI, cracking his knuckles. Mickey and Dutch quickly grabbed him and pulled him back.

"Are you stupid?" Dutch hissed. "Don't try to punch an AI, especially one who's the commanding officer of the whole fleet. Goddamnit, he probably knows everything that's happening behind his back!"

Romeo muttered a few colorful words but otherwise kept silent.

They stood there in complete silence as the AI did his work.

"_Yes,_" the Old Bard muttered after what seemed like hours. "_Yes. I see."_

The Rookie and the others looked at Dare questioningly. She shrugged and faced the AI.

"_Eons of work…years of trial and error…all to achieve this seemingly ridiculous plan. Quantum mechanics at its highest! An Einstein-Rosen Bridge sealed in a web of compressed dimensionality...interesting. A feat worthy of a Micro-Dyson Sphere. The Forerunners have achieved something greater than anticipated."_

"Hello?" Buck cut in, waving a gloved hand. "Would you mind filling us in?"

"_Oh…" _the AI gasped quietly, ignoring the ODST. "_Oh God…What have I done?"_

"Hey, hey, hey! Whoa there, big guy," Romeo said anxiously. "What's going on?"

"_I was blind in my quest for true knowledge! NO! You must get out of here at once!"_

The AI was distraught, his digitally enhanced features wracked with anguish, something impossible for an AI. The door opened, as did every exit possible in the facility.

"_Leave!_" he cried, his voice magnified to the highest degree. He gestured violently to the door. "_Leave now! I was a fool to have kept you here!_"

"What the hell is happening!" Dare exclaimed, pushing her team towards the exit frantically. The ODSTs were confused, but the AIs manner was chilling.

Suddenly, the building began to shake. The Rookie lost his footing and fell to the floor, frighteningly close to the edge of the walkway. Buck had to yell to be heard over the loud din.

"BARD! WHAT JUST HAPPENED!"

"_IT'S ON A TIMER! IT IMMEDIATELY BEGAN THE INITIATION SEQUENCE AFTER I OPENED THE FILES CONTAINING THE DATA! THIS WAS THEIR LAST RESORT, A SECRET PLAN IF THE HALO ARRAY HAD FAILED TO ELIMINATE ALL LIFE IN THE GALAXY! I WAS TOO LOST IN THE INFORMATION TO HAVE NOTICED THE MINISCULE COUNTDOWN! LEAVE NOW!"_

The Rookie got to his feet. He saw the others run out of the room, passing through the open exit. He sprinted down the corridor, desperate to escape the crumbling room.

A white light erupted from the center of the corridor, coalescing around the bottom of the chamber like a bright pool. The silent warrior stumbled once more, felled by the increased shaking. He vaguely heard the screams of his fellow teammates through the ear-splitting noise.

He turned around.

The white light was almost upon him, a pure substance that blinded him and pushed him to the floor. The force was astonishing; it felt as if a hundred Scorpion tanks had been compressed against his whole frame. A silent scream contorted his invisible features. The pain was terrible, yet he would not die. His body was being stretched like a rubber band, his legs being pulled into an unknown space.

The Bard arose before him like a divine aura. His electronic build filled the Rookie's vision like a god from the olden days. A sad smile graced the AI's fair features, an expression of guilt and regret.

"_I have done you a great wrong, Lance Corporal," _he said, his voice fading as he spoke. "_Although I can halt this tide of power, I cannot save you from your ultimate fate. The Forerunners engineered this failsafe to save the souls of existence. For you, however, only mystery awaits. You are leaving this galaxy, soldier. Perhaps fate ordained this occasion, or maybe the advanced mathematics of an empire long extinct. It does not matter. You have a long road ahead of you, soldier. You must find your way. Farewell."_

The UNSC AI spread his arms wide, a cry emitting from his entire presence. Before his body was sucked into the void, before his world turned to black, the last thing the Rookie ever heard was a scream of absolute torment.

It did not take him long, however, to realize it was his.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Buck removed his hand from his helmet visor, restoring his vision. The corridor outside the Control Room was steaming. Smoke seemed to steam from every crack, gathering in a dense mist above their heads. The doors to the Control Room were frozen halfway.

"What the hell just happened?" Mickey cried, immediately to his feet.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it was _bad_," Buck answered almost casually. He rose to his feet, followed by the rest of the bewildered team.

"Dutch, Romeo, check the room," Dare ordered, shaken but no less in command.

The two big ODSTs, for once in their lives lost for words, obediently inspected the Control Room through the man-sized crack in the doorway that acted as the entrance.

Romeo gave the thumbs-up.

One by one they entered the vast chamber, eyes roving everywhere.

The center obelisk was fragmented into many pieces, lying broken amidst the rubble on the bottom of the spherical room. The Halo hologram was practically nonexistent save for brief flashes of a part here and there. The walkway was smoldered and black and the console all but vanished.

"Damn," Romeo whispered.

There was a brief flash of light, and the vague figure of the Bard appeared at the head of the walkway.

"Bard!" the captain cried, rushing over to the shaky AI. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"_C-Cannot…function to full degree…Initiating shutdown and purging of files…data stored as: __**Top Secret**__ placed in lockdown until appropriate passcode entered."_

"C'mon, Bard, don't die on us!" Buck cried, even as the fizzling form of the AI began to appear less and less. His features were distorted and unrecognizable, but something akin to sadness permeated his aura. "What happened? Where's the Rookie?"

"_He is lost to us…gone to another dimension…When the sword and shield are splintered, and the fortress overthrown, the rider of the stars will carry the Reclaimers to a place where the taint of the Flood will not reach. The…The…Forerunners achieved their plan…to transport human life to the New World…yet…yet…I could not allow it…Humanity had come too far to start all over again…I stopped the sequence…but it c-cost me everything…farewell, ODST…pray for your brother-in-arms…for he will need it…"_

The voice was cut and the figure vanished. The Old Bard was no more.

Something fell to the ground from the empty space that had held the AI. It clattered to the ground. Dare knelt down and picked it up.

"It's a data chip," she murmured, inspecting the small device. "This must be the top secret files he talked about."

"Well, this is just amazing!" Buck exclaimed, throwing his weapon to the ground. "Our CIC's dead, the Rookie is God knows where, and all intel about the event purged! This is one big pile of crap if you ask me!"

"Word," the three remaining squad members said simultaneously.

Dare took off her helmet, revealing her pretty, but hard features. Her blond hair was matted to her scalp. She placed the data chip in her pocket and began to walk away.

"C'mon, there's nothing we can do." she said. "Let's get the hell out of here."

One by one, they left the Control Room. Buck paused at the doorway, the memory of the AI and his friend lingering in his mind. Suddenly, something prickled at the back of his head. It tingled his spine, sending an ungodly shiver down his back. He gripped his gun, yelled to the others, and turned…

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

His body felt as if it were being stretched tight by his extremities. Every muscle and tendon strained to its highest degree; an invisible force pulled him without mercy or restraint. The world around him was a spectrum of bright colors: Flashes of red, splashes of silver, flickering dots of yellow. He had the vague expression of being sucked through a tube, a cramped and uncomfortable one at that. A massive groan escaped his clenched lips. The pain was nigh unbearable, and if it went any longer, he would be pushed over the brink.

Suddenly, the pain stopped, as if it had heard the Rookie's pleas and heeded. His body snapped back together, like a rubber band, and before he knew it, he was falling.

"Aargh!" he cried, his body hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud. His body armor cushioned the blow, but it also pressed into his chest unmercifully. He gasped for air.

Moaning, he picked up his Silenced SMG and looked around him.

First off, he grimly noticed that the crowd surrounding him did not look human at all. All were vaguely humanoid, but sadly, that was where the comparison ended. He saw one alien with a furry simian body, but its head was elongated like a worm's. It peered at him curiously with dark beady eyes. The Rookie stumbled backwards, his senses on high alert. _Where the hell was he?_

His back hit something warm and hard. He whirled around to see a large humanoid with dark-blue skin glare down at him. Its head was bald but spiked with tiny horns, and fang-like teeth jutted from behind its upper lip. It snarled and shoved him aside.

The Rookie fell on his can, completely bewildered. The tide of aliens were all around him. They walked to and fro like pedestrians on a city sidewalk, and the trooper was beginning to think that it was exactly that. They wore exotic clothing that ranged from simple toga-like garb to outrageous suits of shiny material and metal cuffs. Depending on what race of alien they were, the clothes fit their bodies. The Rookie managed to get on his feet, and when he did, he finally took time to see where he was.

Magnificent spires rose to the sky, gleaming gloriously in the sunlight. They were all of unique designs, some spiraled sideways and others were bulbous and curved. They stood like giant sequoias in a forest of raw metal, stoic and unmoving. The light shimmered beautifully over their polished skin; it was a sight that not even New Alexandria or New Mombasa could have achieved.

Vehicles were flying-flying!-around these towers, circling and honking as if they were on the streets of New York. They flew in the thousands: pedestrian vehicles forming air traffic the ODST had never witnessed in his life. They came in different colors and forms, more strange and exotic than any fancy automobile Mars Automotive Innovations or Mech Tech could've fashioned. The city hummed and buzzed with an air of business and ambition no UNSC city garnered.

He spun around and around, his mouth hanging open behind his helmet. The crowd surged around him, many giving the strange individual in black curious looks. None bothered to stop and chat, however. Life was busy in Coruscant, and there was never time to stop in rush hour.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The metallic doors slid open with a pleasant beep. Steam wafted from hidden vents in the ground, swirling around the Rookie's legs like tentacles. Reluctantly, the ODST stepped inside.

He had felt extremely relieved when he found a store labeled in English. Relieved, but also curious. Where was he? If the place had English, then was the UNSC still around? The city was too advanced and spacious to be of UNSC construction, and the first thought he had was that he had traveled to the future. The bar, for that was what is had been named, **Fawlee's Bar**, to be specific, was a dingy establishment lit with sporadic flashes of light from a broken projector. The futuristic looking counter was grimy with stains and decades of poor treatment. Broken vials and cups lay scattered across the brown floor, and only one or two individuals sat on the tables situated around the room. The bartender, to the trooper's surprise, was human.

The Rookie approached the grizzled, elderly man cautiously, his combat boots clacking loudly on the marble floor. The man finished wiping a glass with a rag and glared at the soldier.

"Let me guess. Bounty hunter. You could've dressed a little more inconspicuous, what with the all-black vibe going on there. You coming back from a run?"

The Rookie stared.

"Is it a drink you want?" the bartender pried, his thin eyebrows raised. "Do you even speak Basic?"

The Rookie shifted his feet, not knowing what to say. The man thought he was a bounty hunter, an occupation the ODST had always abhorred. He had a picture of bounty hunters being cruel men searching for money to satiate their desires. Of course, not all were like that, but the men who the Rookie had apprehended over the years were. He slowly nodded his head.

The bartender sighed. He poured a dark substance into a glass and set it in front of him.

"You're not one for talking, so I'll pour you the usual. This is the hunter favorite around these parts, so that'll be eleven credits."

The Rookie didn't have the faintest clue what credits were, and he sure as hell didn't have any. He stared at the cup, mulling his situation over in his head. The bartender coughed, his expression one of impatience and confusion.

"If you don't want the drink, I'll get you a-"

"Fawlee Dravton! How long has it been?" a jovial voice called from behind the Rookie.

The bartender's face darkened, and he straightened his back and reached for something under the counter. "Han Solo. Didn't think you'd have the gall and the idiocy to visit the capital of the entire Empire, but then again, you weren't much for brains. Now, get the kriff out of my bar before I blast your annoying face to smithereens."

The Rookie, interested and curious, turned around.

The man was of medium height, the Rookie placed him at around five foot ten. He wore a black vest over a white shirt, slit at the collar and revealing his upper chest. He had on black pants, almost like jeans but the material looked too smooth and foreign. Disheveled brown hair gave the man a somewhat scruffy look. He had light skin and brown eyes set deep into his face by a pronounced forehead. He had a rugged smile on his face, crinkling his eyes and lending him an almost friendly persona. The gleam in his eyes, however, told otherwise.

Behind him, the living representation of Bigfoot plodded its way through the doorway, dwarfing all the occupants of the room. It had shaggy brown fur covering every inch of its massive body, and hooked claws ended at tips at the feet and hands of the alien. Dark eyes peered around the room, and almost human-like lips moved wordlessly as it processed its surroundings. The beast wore what looked like ammunition canisters around its chest Pancho Villa-style, and a giant metal crossbow hung on its back. The beast gave a warbling cry, and the man named Han Solo nodded impatiently.

"I know, Chewie, I know. We'll take care of them later." he replied, his eyes fixed on the old bartender. "Fawlee, we're good friends. I've covered your back _dozens_ of times in the past-"

"That's a load of _druk_ if you ask me, Solo," the man growled. "You _farkled_ that deal with Jabba and nearly got us all killed. The Gamorrean guards that Jabba keeps as pets ripped Torley to shreds, and the Rancor gobbled up Cathran and Tzu when we tried to run for it. Only Westor and I got out alive, no thanks to you and your furball back there."

The creature warbled again, and Solo shushed it quickly. He tilted his head at the bartender, as if confused. "You mean that scrap in Tatooine? You still remember that? C'mon, Fawlee, that was a_ges_ ago, and you know I gave you your portion in the end!"

The bartender hefted a nasty-looking gun from under the counter. It was huge, double-barreled and humming in preparation. The Rookie scampered out of the way as quickly as he could. The other occupants of the bar ran out of the building; they wanted no part in this. The Rookie knew he should've left too, but curiosity got the better of him and he stayed. Han Solo lifted an eyebrow, and the beast behind him withdrew the crossbow, roaring in challenge.

"A DB-321?" Han said, a smirk on his face. "You know those are contraband, no matter how old of a model it is."

"Who cares?" Fawlee snorted. He flipped a switch on the handle, and the humming intensified. "Damn Imps don't care to bother dirty old bartenders like me, so they don't see it. It doesn't matter, really. I'm about to blow your worthless sack to the Outer Rim, your wookie friend, too."

Han Solo went deathly still.

Fawlee's trigger finger twitched, and the duo sprang into action.

The "wookie" spun to the right, while Solo dove to the left. Fawlee cursed and pulled the trigger. A ball of superheated _plasma_ soared through the room, missing the two partners and melting an entire hole through the double layered metal door. There was an explosion, and the sounds of screaming. Fawlee muttered under his breath and brought his gigantic gun over, but Solo was faster.

Quick as lightning, he drew a small pistol from its holster on his hips. An expression of total concentration settled on his features as he aimed and fired. The red plasma streaked faster than the Rookie could blink, hitting the old man square between the eyes. Fawlee's eyes rolled over in his head, and he dropped with a dull thud.

The wookie warbled.

"We didn't _have_ to kill him, true," Solo grunted. "I don't want any loose ends, though. Knowing the old bastard, he'd probably snitch the moment we hit sky."

Solo noticed the lone black figure standing in the bar for the first time, and his eyes widened. "Chewie!" he cried.

The wookie huffed in affirmation and circled around the ODST, crossbow poised. Han Solo smiled, almost sadly, at the Rookie and lifted his gun. "Sorry, man. Like I said, no loose ends."

He pulled the trigger.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The Rookie, no matter how surprised he was at the use of plasma in the room, was no slouch when it came to speed. Often he had found himself dodging entire spiker shards when he fought Brute Minors in the depths of New Mombasa. Now, with his senses on high alert once again, Han Solo's finger seemed to move incredibly slowly. He moved to the side, the weight of his ODST standard issue combat armor irrelevant. The muzzle brightened a hellish red, and the plasma shot lanced by, grazing the Rookie's arm. He gritted his teeth, but he wasn't done. The ODST took advantage of the man's momentary surprise by grabbing Solo's gun hand and twisting. The man yelped and fell to his knees, eyes clenched shut in pain. The trooper flashed behind the downed man, hooking an arm around his neck and pulling him up. Through his visor, he stared at the shocked wookie.

It warbled again.

"I'll tell you what you could've done," Solo barked angrily from under the soldier's tight headlock. "You could've moved faster, you laserbrain!"

The wookie groaned and dropped his crossbow down a fraction. The Rookie lessened his grip on the squirming man and stepped back. The wookie roared and lifted his weapon again, but Solo waved his hands frantically.

"No, Chewie!" he gasped, rubbing his reddened neck with one palm. "Don't shoot." Han Solo turned to the Rookie with a bewildered expression. "Where'd you learn to move like that?"

The Rookie shrugged.

Solo smirked. "Strong and silent type, eh? What're you, a mercenary? Bounty hunter?"

He shrugged again.

Harried voices and stiff commands sounded from outside the bar. Footsteps clacked outside in the street, and Han's face darkened.

"Ah kriff, we haven't even found the damn ship yet. Chewie, see if there's a back exit."

The wookie barked in assent and disappeared behind the shelves of drinks. Han rummaged around his hips, muttering angrily to himself. He cursed, looking down at his holster.

"Where the c_rink_ is my blaster?" he grumbled.

The Rookie tossed him the pistol, grinning underneath his helmet. The man caught it, slightly blushing. Then, the first soldier walked in.

He was dressed all in white, a complete opposite to the Rookie's matte black. A slightly squat helmet covered his face, its vaguely T-shaped visor menacing and blank. The armor was spit-shined polished, looking almost brand-new. He held a black gun the length of a forearm, and when he saw the two men, he lifted it.

The ODST was faster. He raised his Silenced SMG and fired. The first bullets left only dents on the surprisingly durable armor, and pinged off the walls and floor. The Rookie grimaced but kept on firing. The bullets eventually tore into the armor, splintering the chest plate and turning the soldier's torso into a mess of gore. The soldier fell, red plasma firing wildly in the corpse's frozen grip. The Rookie quickly inserted a fresh clip into the cartridge and waited. Solo was giving him a weird look, and the trooper faced him.

Han looked down at the SMG and back at the Rookie. "You're a slugthrower? This far into the Core Worlds?"

Yet again, the Rookie had no idea what Han meant, so he kept silent. The man gave the trooper an exasperated look, but turned away. Two more white-armored soldiers came stalking through the breached doorway, firing at the direction of the two warriors. The Rookie aimed upwards and fired at the first man's visor. The 5x23mm MM43 Caseless Full Metal Jacket/.197 caliber rounds ripped through the soldier's visor, fracturing his skull and sending his brains flying out the other side.

Han Solo was quick and nimble with his gun; obviously he had a lot of experience. He fired three shots into the other man's torso. The soldier dropped instantly, a charred and steaming mess substituting as a belly. There was an urgent cry from the back of the bar, and the giant wookie stuck his shaggy head out from a corridor.

"Thanks, Chewbacca! Time to go!" Solo grunted, backpedaling towards the back hallway. "Come with us, we can use your skill set, no matter how primitive it might appear."

Seeing no choice, the Rookie followed Han Solo and Chewbacca down the hall.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The towering wookie led the way, its trunk-like legs moving as fast it could manage. Solo was close behind, always taking a quick look behind his shoulder. The Rookie was a ways back, jogging calmly and steadily.

"We ain't taking a kriffing walk in the park, tough guy," Solo yelled back. "We haven't got all day, you know!"

The Rookie ignored him, checking to see if his tools were strapped to his waist. Solo's eyes widened as he looked over the trooper's back. "Hey! You've got three Imp troopers behind-!"

The ODST chucked a fragmentation grenade over his shoulder and started to sprint down the corridor. There was a satisfying boom and anguished screams as the shrapnel lodged in the Imps' bodies. He passed the two friends, who were standing still. They traded a confused look and shook their heads.

They caught up with the Rookie. They came across a metal door, which, wasting no time, Chewbacca kicked open with no apparent effort. It was the Rookie's turn to be stunned, and Solo noticed.

"The trick is to feed them every hour," he explained lightly. "That way they don't lose any protein."

They rushed into the open sunlight. There was an angular looking ship docked in the middle of a square pit, machinery and fuel tanks littered around it. It must've been quite the beauty in its heyday, but that was long gone. Now, only a battered, triangular-shaped vehicle with a scraped green paint job remained. Chewbacca raced over to it and dropped a set of stairs from the open cockpit door. Han entered the cockpit, racing to the controls. There was a shout from behind the ODST.

A white-armored soldier popped out of the corridor, weapon raised. The wookie snarled and pressed the crossbow against his shoulder, sighting down the line of fire. Wisely, the Rookie dived out of the way and into the ship. A green bar of energy flashed through the miniature hangar, hitting the soldier in the chest. He was sent flying a few meters back, a burnt hole sizzling on his waist. He slumped against the wall, dead.

Chewbacca warbled in triumph and crouched into the spacious cockpit. The room was big enough for two men and a full-grown wookie; there were three control chairs spread across a panel stretching in a U-shape around the cockpit. There was a door leading to the rest of the rooms, and the main body of the ship. Solo flipped a few switches and pressed down on the controls, his fingers flying on the panel like an expert. The ship rumbled to life, and ever so slowly, began to hover. Han Solo whooped in delight, his fingers still working on overtime. Chewbacca roared along with him, giving his partner a celebratory high-five. The Rookie, as always, was silent.

There were slight bumps as the soldier below them started to fire. Solo didn't bother to look up. "Chewie…?"

The wookie gave a guttural cry and pressed some controls; he was surprisingly nimble despite his sloth-like claws. There was a hum and a whirring as the external turrets swiveled and started to fire. Green plasma speared into the cluster of troopers in the doorway. There was an explosion, and five white bodies went flying through the air, their polished armor burned to black. They cheered again, with the Rookie sitting down on the second chair silent as ever. The ship rose above the makeshift hangar, and zoomed ahead.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The city was even more beautiful from the sky. The tens of thousands of pedestrians who walked the streets seemed like ants, and the neon lights that decorated every shop, establishment, and street lit up the twilight brighter than Las Vegas could every shine. The Rookie discovered that there were more stores, grandiose and haughty buildings that rose above the ground amidst the canopy of towers and spires. Han Solo pointed to a huge edifice, decorated in flamboyant colors and lights, hanging off a spire by a ledge of polished metal. It vaguely resembled a Hershey's Kiss in shape, curved and wide at the base. Hundreds of air vehicles were parked in front of it, and well-dressed aristocrats entered the building, their cheerful laughter floating in the breeze.

"Remember Bongo's Funhouse, Chewie?" the man said to his wookie friend. "The fat sleamo tried to nab you for a Trandoshan slave trader."

Chewbacca snarled, saliva dripping from his thin lips. His terrible canines jutted from his mouth as he stared hatefully at the magnificent building.

The Rookie processed everything that had happened in the past hours. He had been transported to a place where, evidently, human and aliens coexisted quite peacefully. Well, relatively. From what he gleaned from the partners' conversations, the planet was under the control of an "Empire". The ODST didn't know if this empire was totalitarian and cruel, but he did know that some of their soldiers had attempted to kill him a while back. In addition, the place was far more advanced than anything UNSC, maybe even Covenant. They used plasma weaponry for starters, and they were able to use aircraft for everyday civilian use. His mind reeled, and he gripped the control panel for balance. _Where the hell had he been sent?_ The Old Bard had said something about a different galaxy, but that seemed far too outlandish. Well, he had seen some strange things…

The day's fatigue caught up with him, and before he knew it, he fell asleep.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Han Solo, smuggler, con, and ex-officer of the Imperial Navy, noticed the mysterious man slump in his seat. Soon, quiet snores could be heard under the man's strange helmet. Come to think of it, everything about the man was strange. The armor was unlike anything the smuggler had ever seen. It resembled some Spec Ops equipment some bounty hunters used, but the design seemed too…simple, utilitarian at best. The weird slugthrower hung limply from his open hand, and another one, a pistol, was tucked into a holster at his hip. The visor was gray and opaque, barring any external view. Chewbacca roared.

"I don't think throwing him out of the ship is a good idea, Chewie," Solo muttered. "We don't even know who he is…or who _it_ is. Let's get the _Falcon_ back, and then we'll decide what to do with him….Or it," he added hastily.

The wookie shrugged and returned to the controls.

Surprisingly, they made it out of the atmosphere without too much trouble. The regular inspection unit bombarded them with the usual questions, which Han answered skillfully. They got clear of the Imperial Home Fleet by the open route, and entered Hyperspace. The Rookie stirred as the ship zoomed into lightspeed. Han Solo leaned back in his chair, staring at the man curiously.

"Who are you?" he asked.

It was an honest question, so the Rookie did not know why he felt an urge to lie. This, in the AIs words, wasn't even his own galaxy, something that he had a lot of trouble grasping. He was thrown into an alien world without the least bit of proper intel, a chilling fact for a seasoned ODST like him. It was very disturbing to know he was somewhere billions of light-years away from everything he was familiar with: his team, his home, his brothers…was he ever going to see them again? He thought to himself, while Solo and his friend waited patiently for an answer.

The Rookie faced them.

"You first."

**AN: If you are confused, which I am sure you are, do not fret. All will be explained later on, I promise. Please R it gives me encouragement and determination. I won't be a review whore though, so if you don't want to, you don't have to. Constructive criticism, please, and NO FLAMES POR FAVOR! Don't like it, don't read it. Anyways, thank you for reading and I hope you like it.**

**P.S: I any of you are displeased with the fact that the Rookie will talk for the duration of the story, I am sorry. I find it difficult to write a character that has no dialogue. **


	2. Hokey Religions and Ancient Weapons

**AN: Quick update, I know. Don't expect it to be like this for every chapter. Anyways, I'm having a lot of fun writing this story, and I hope you guys are having just as much fun reading it. As a warning to you die-hard, hardcore, obsessed fans with Star Wars, this is a little AU, so I'm sorry if you get mad over it. I needed to tweak a few things in order for it to fit in with my plot. Also, I used a huge part of the Star Wars script, and will be using it for quite some time. If you don't like it that way, review or PM me. I'll be more than glad to make some adjustments. So, yeah. Enjoy! (or not?)**

**DISCLAIMER: **_**I do not own anything except for what's mine.**_

**Hyperspace**

Han Solo stared at the silent soldier for a few moments, working his jaw. Chewbacca grumbled and returned to the controls, unsatisfied. He didn't know how many times he heard Solo explain his whole life story, and he wasn't about to sit down and listen again. The Rookie leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

"Fine," he grunted. "I'll go first. Considering the fact I don't know you, I'll only divulge some information."

The Rookie shrugged. Han Solo was beginning to think that was all he ever did.

"I was an officer in the Imperial Navy, way back when I gave a _druk_. My life before that is none of your business. To make a long story short, I did something that didn't go well with my superiors, and I left."

The wookie warbled.

"Okay, okay, they booted me out. I got a dishonorable discharge from the Imperial Starfleet, and I ended up partnering up with Chewbacca."

"What'd you do?" the Rookie grunted.

"I saved this guy's skin, that's what I did," Han said, smirking. "One of my officers tried to blast Chewie, and I stunned the pile of bantha fodder before he could do anything. Since then, I've been traveling, winning fortune and fame in every corner of the galaxy."

From what the ODST had seen so far, it must've been quite the opposite.

"Interesting."

Han Solo noticed that the man's voice was very harsh, as if grated against a washboard. He assumed it was from years of voluntary silence. The smuggler wondered what had caused his silence. As the mysterious soldier shifted in preparation, Solo figured he was about to find out.

"I was born on a planet called Luna, which you probably don't know of. I trained to be an elite soldier in my military, in order to fight a hostile alien race bent on the destruction of the human race. We won in the end, though I lost a lot of friends. After the war, my team and I were sent to search a potentially hostile area. Something happened, and the next thing I knew, I was on…"

"Coruscant," Solo provided.

"Yes…Coruscant."

Han Solo sighed loudly, skepticism heavy on his breath. He fixed the Rookie with a steely glare, trying to see any falsehood in the soldier's manner. Although he couldn't see his face, you could tell a lot from a person's body posture. However, try as he might, he couldn't find any. Solo gave a sidelong glance to Chewbacca. The wookie, having torn himself away from the controls to listen to the other man's brief explanation, shrugged. The smuggler prickled with annoyance; it seems everyone was into shrugging.

"That all?" Solo inquired, threading his fingers together. "Is there anything else you could care to tell us? After all, if it wasn't for us, you'd be a big pile of smoking meat in the middle of Fawlee's bar. At least give us a name."

"If I told more, you wouldn't believe me," the Rookie answered resolutely. "And I don't give my name lightly."

Han Solo scoffed, lifting his arms in an exasperated manner. He gave his friend a look that said _Who does this guy think he is?_ Chewie shrugged, much to Solo's chagrin. He turned back to the foreign warrior.

"Fine," he supplied, tired of the whole thing. "You're a guy with secrets, I respect that."

The Rookie nodded.

"Now that that's settled with, on to the next thing. As far as I can tell, you know nothing about this whole place. I suggest you stay with us until you can get situated."

Chewbacca stiffened. The giant wookie leaned over and warbled in Solo's ear. Solo rolled his eyes and started to shake his head half-way through his partner's rant. He faced the other man.

"Sorry, he gets a little jealous, sometimes. It's settled, you're staying with us."

The Rookie nodded, while Chewbacca muttered under his breath and returned to the panel. Han Solo, feeling that all was settled with, also turned back, inputting the last coordinates into the log. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Where are we going?" the Rookie asked.

"Nowhere special, in particular," the scruffy smuggler said, his eyes never leaving the controls. "What it holds is what we're after. We're going to a pathetic little dirt ball called Tatooine."

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Desert.

Hot, dry, desert.

When he had viewed it from the stolen ship they had acquired, it seemed like the whole planet was devoid of life. There was no end to the sand; it stretched from every corner of the globe, pole to pole. It was arid and dry, desiccated to the point of invoking a sense of isolation and despair. When the town had appeared in the horizon, he was more than relieved.

"Welcome to Mos Eisley," Solo said from the front seat. "You'll love it here."

The Rookie wasn't so sure about that.

They landed the battered old starship on an open field of sand (no surprise there). Dozens of other crafts were docked there, all of differing sizes and forms. The unique variation of this new galaxy was stunning to the UNSC soldier. From advanced cityscapes to parched desert towns, the Rookie wondered what other new area he would discover.

They got out of the ship, and the Rookie regretted leaving the conditioned air of the ship even more as he received the full brunt of the two Tatooine suns. He felt as if he was in an oven inside his layered armor, and he almost screamed and tossed his helmet off his tortured head. _Not yet. Not yet._ Han Solo and Chewbacca looked quite fine, though. The Rookie was surprised to see the wookie walk so calmly despite his dense layer of fur.

They passed through a shaded alley and into the streets of Mos Eisley. The streets weren't quite as busy as Coruscant, but it had an aura of an industrial oasis in the midst of the unforgiving desert. Speeders zoomed through the dirt between the rows of adobe establishments, ignoring the occasional jaywalker who seemed not to give a damn about walking in the way of speeding vehicles that weighed over a ton. Merchants crowed in the streets, while shady individuals languished in the shadows, waiting for the perfect prey to walk by. There was a significant amount of humans in the area compared to the busy sidewalks of Coruscant. These looked much more grizzled and gruff, like the years of toiling in the hot desert beat them like hot iron, toughened to the point of brittle disregard. A few aliens strode by, but they were of the same disposition as the humans, who were mostly male. A bipedal insectoid with spindly arms and legs croaked at the Rookie, waving its limbs wildly and brandishing an oaken staff. Chewbacca snarled at him, and the alien whimpered and stumbled away. They walked a little more, Han and his wookie friend bearing a no-nonsense posture that the Rookie soon adopted. It seemed that the two were well-known in the area; people whispered and pointed when they passed, but never in the open. _My newfound friends have a feared reputation here_, he mused.

It did not fail to notice, however, the white-armored figures standing at the edges of town, inspecting incoming speeders. A few more hung near stores and shops, toting guns and closely watching the block. They passed by two Imperial troopers without incident, and the weight that had settled in the Rookie's stomach was lifted.

They stopped at a large building near the center of the town. Pedestrians were milling around it, entering and exiting, usually with a friend and a drink. Lively music drifted from the open windows, a fun tune that seemed a relief from the grim atmosphere in the streets. Han Solo approached the door, which opened, revealing a dimly lit room filled with a light smoke. They entered.

It was crowded, that the Rookie could tell. Beings of every species sat at tables and around the counter, sipping drinks and talking animatedly. The bulk of alien life forms sitting around him made the ODST very nervous, and his finger twitched towards the pistol hanging at his hip. He had regretted leaving his SMG in the ship. The weapon would prove very useful when he found himself having to tear through disgusting alien filth. He pushed those thoughts away; the Covenant war was long over, and he himself had despised the xenophobia that had plagued the public after the conflict.

Han Solo gripped his shoulder and led him to a table by the corner. Chewbacca warbled to his friend, and the smuggler told the ODST that the wookie was going to get a drink. Solo sat down, while the Rookie stood off to the side, surveying his surroundings. A group of pink, dome-headed aliens played saxophone-like instruments on a raised platform, playing their hearts out. Well, considering that they even _had_ hearts.

"Why don't you get a drink with Chewbacca," Solo asked, his eyes roving across the cantina. "You look parched."

The soldier nodded and turned around. He spotted the rows of backs sitting hunched over the chrome counter, and he made his way towards it. Just as he was about to plop down on an empty seat, someone barreled into him. He grunted, catching the person under the arms and setting him up. The unfortunate individual, who had apparently been thrown by a pig-faced brute, turned around.

He was only a boy, probably around his early twenties. Bright blue eyes stared at the Rookie in absolute fright, twinkling under a fringe of sandy blonde hair. He wore a baggy tunic, tan but lighter than the sand that covered the planet.

"I'm s-s-sorry, sir," he stammered as the soldier dusted him off. "I d-didn't mean to-"

There was an unearthly shriek, followed by a hum of plasma and the dreadful sound of body parts being torn off. The Rookie saw the alien who had pushed the boy fall to the ground, his right arm barely a steaming stump. The rest of it lay on the ground, bleeding dark blood profusely and still clutching a smoking blaster.

To his right, an elderly man with clean-cut white hair and a beard held aloft the strangest energy sword the Rookie had ever seen. It was emitting from a sturdy metal cylinder with no cross guards, gripped tightly in the wrinkled hands of the strange man. A short blue energy beam shone brightly in the darkness of the cantina. It was only a few feet in length, and it resembled a mere projection of light, but from what the Rookie could tell, it was hot enough to cut through cloth, flesh, and bone. There was little elegance to it, much unlike the energy swords of the proud Sangheili. It was simple, but somehow it gave off an aura of prestige and danger. The man surveyed the bar with challenging eyes, and then deactivated his saber.

The occupants of the cantina, having got their fill of sporadic violence for a time, turned back to whatever they were doing. Soon, the music started once more. It was as if it had never happened. The injured offender lay moaning on the ground, his friend attempting to help him up. Chewbacca, who had been standing behind the sword-wielding man the whole time, nodded to him and lead him to Han Solo, who had watched the affair through narrowed eyes. The nervous boy thanked the Rookie and scampered next to the older man, whispering with him.

"Han Solo," the smuggler said, pointing to his chest as the two strangers sat down at the table. Chewbacca sat down next to his partner, silent. The Rookie folded his arms and stood next to them. "I'm captain of the _Millennium Falcon_." _What the hell was a _Millennium Falcon_ and when had Solo been captain of it?_ "Chewie here tells me you're looking for a passage into the Alderaan system."

"He is indeed," the old man answered. His voice was smooth, clipped, and precise, like a practiced orator or a negotiator. "If it's a fast ship."

"Fast ship?" Solo replied incredulously, leaning over and fixing the man with a disbelieving glare. "You've never heard of the _Millennium Falcon_?"

"Should I have?"

"It's the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs," Solo informed him plainly, a proud smirk on his face.

When the two were silent, the smuggler captain grinned and leaned in more.

"I've outrun Imperial starships," he said. "Not the local bulk cruisers, mind you, I'm talking about the big Corellian ships now." Solo glanced at both of them for a second. "She's fast enough for you, old man. What's the cargo?"

"Only passengers," the elderly man replied. "Myself, the boy, two droids, and _no questions asked_."

Solo grinned and chuckled quietly. "What is it, some kind of local trouble?"

The man fixated his gaze on the cocky smuggler. "Let's just say we'd like to avoid any Imperial entanglements."

"Well, that's the real trick, isn't it?" Han's eyes glimmered in prospect. "And it's going to cost you something extra."

The white-haired man waited patiently for the price.

"Ten thousand, all in advance." Solo offered.

"_Ten thousand_?" the boy repeated, shocked. His voice was even more high-pitched than when the Rookie had stumbled into him. "We could almost buy our own ship for that!"

"But who's going to fly it, kid?" Solo scoffed, his voice condescending. "You?"

"You bet I could," the boy answered hotly. "I'm not such a bad pilot myself!" he looked at his older friend and rose from his seat. "We don't have to sit here and listen to this-"

"We can pay you two thousand now," the man said to Solo. The kid sighed and sat back down. "Plus fifteen when we reach Alderaan."

The Rookie was surprised. The man was offering seventeen thousand whatever-this-galaxy-used-as-currency? Either this guy was filthy rich, or he was just a good scammer. Han Solo was visibly surprised. "Seventeen?"

The man nodded slowly.

"Okay, you guys got yourselves a ship," Solo said, his grin widening. We'll leave as soon as we're ready. Docked in Bay 94."

"94," the old man recited, obviously pleased. The boy was still staring at him incredulously.

Solo's demeanor shifted from delight to danger as he spotted something behind the two stranger's backs. "It looks like someone's beginning to take an interest in your…handiwork."

The Rookie had noticed the two Imperial troopers long before they had, their polished white armor and orange shoulder pauldrons marking them in the crowd of dark packed bodies. The ugly bartender pointed at the entourage from the counter, whispering to the soldiers quietly. The old man and the boy quickly rose, thanked Solo, and vanished into the crowded cantina. When the soldiers came around, bearing long black blasters with pronounced muzzles, they merely stared at the Rookie, the smuggler, and the wookie, then moved on.

"Seventeen thousand!" Solo exclaimed when they left. "Those guys must really be desperate. This could _really _save my neck! Come on, let's get that ship."

"Hold on," the Rookie said, blocking the man and the wookie in their path. "You two aren't going anywhere until you tell me exactly what's going on here."

Chewbacca growled ominously, but Solo nodded and sat back down, pushing his friend to his seat. "I haven't told you everything, which isn't really bad considering you're so tight-lipped yourself."

The Rookie leaned back in his chair and listened.

"I lost my original ship, the _Falcon_, to a slimeball called Jabba the Hutt. Big crime boss, biggest in this sector. I managed to steal away from this dustball in a damaged fighter, barely making it out alive. I flew to Coruscant in order to get Fawlee's ship, one of the fastest out there. That's how I met you. Apparently, he didn't put it to good use, so it's a rickety old tin can compared to its original beauty. I came here to get my ship back and maybe settle things with Jabba so I won't have to keep on looking over my shoulder wherever I go. That's it. Is that alright?"

The Rookie nodded and rose alongside Chewbacca and Han.

Suddenly, someone pushed against his shoulder. He turned, seeing a green-skinned reptilian smirk at him, its bulbous dark eyes staring at him with contempt. It wore a green shirt that resembled a turtleneck under a tan vest. Dark pants covered scrawny legs, and the Rookie noticed the small blaster holstered at his waist. He stepped aside as the alien cut in Han's path, the blaster out in a flash and pressing against the smuggler's chest.

"_Oota Goota, _Solo_?_" the alien intoned, his accent lilting his English, or Basic, in a slightly silly rhythm.

"Yes, Greedo, I was just going to see your boss," he said as the alien pushed him down to a seat. Han met the Rookie's eyes and motioned for him to back up. The soldier complied. "Tell Jabba that I got his money."

The alien said something in a foreign language, the blaster still pointed threateningly at the man. Han listened impatiently, reclining against the wall, his legs on the table. He was acting pretty relaxed when a potential killer was sitting in front of him, a gun in his hand. "Yeah but this time, I got the money."

The alien spat something harsh in his language, and Solo rolled his eyes, turning his attention to a crack in the wall behind him. The ODST noticed his other hand creeping down to the blaster at his hip. The green beast prattled on some more, never noticing the smuggler ready his weapon.

"Yeah, but even I get boarded sometimes," Solo replied. "You think I had a choice?"

The alien's tone began to get more aggravated, and the Rookie could tell Han wasn't pleased with his words. "Over my dead body."

The alien replied, and Han gave a slight smile and leaned forward. "Yeah, I bet you have!"

Time slowed down, and the Rookie tracked the two lasers' movements as both opponents fired at nearly the same time. There was a huge puff of smoke and sparks, and the Rookie shielded his visor with his arm. When the smoke cleared, the alien dropped down to the table, his whole body steaming as if taken from an oven. The occupants of the cantina who had been watching turned away once more, like when the man had dismembered the other alien. Han looked around, rising to his feet and holstering his blaster. He walked over to the counter and flicked a card of paper over to the less-than-happy bartender. He would have a _lot_ of cleaning to do.

"Sorry about the mess."

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Jabba the Hutt resembled an oversized slug. He was taller than Solo, and his massive girth beat even Chewbacca in weight and size. A vaguely human face was set on top of the slab of revolting skin and fat, stretched wider than any. Bulbous eyes flickered under a set of drooping eyelids, and a disgusting tongue licked his thin lips like a worm. His short tail trailed slime as he pushed himself towards the huge freighter, apparently the _Millennium Falcon_. It was disc-shaped, with a few tubular projections jutting from its rough hide. It looked like it had gone through hundreds of repairs over the years. Oddly, the cockpit was on the right side of the ship, inside a blocky compartment projecting from the starboard. There was little regularity in its shape, and it didn't look like top-of-the-line starship. The Rookie had seen better looking trucks back home, but he trusted Han's words. Well, most of the time. Jabba gurgled something foreign in a deep baritone, spreading his arms wide at the ship. Dozens of his men were gathered around it, blaster rifles in hand. Han, Chewbacca, and the Rookie came into the docking bay. They had gotten their stuff from Fawlee's ship a while back, abandoning the rust bucket to some unfortunate sap looking for a free ride out of town.

"Right here, Jabba," Solo yelled.

The slug and his posse turned, and Jabba exclaimed something.

"Didn't think I was going to run, did you?" Solo replied, grinning wolfishly.

He approached the Hutt, while the wookie and the Rookie stayed behind, watching the other men cautiously. They were doing the same, which was apparent. They had the aura of hardened criminals, dangerous to the core. That wasn't any deterrance to the ODST, however. He had faced worse and had come out on top. He and Chewbacca stood firm, the intimidation Jabba's guards were giving off splashing against them like feeble waves.

"I knew you were going to come for me sooner or later…" Solo smirked, walking over to the repulsive Hutt. The slug lifted his fat arms, drawling out a few sentences.

"Look Jabba, next time you want to talk to me, come see me yourself," he snarled, a stern finger pointed blatantly at Jabba then beck to himself. He jutted his chin at the guards. "Don't send one of these twerps."

Han and Jabba started to walk down the length of the frigate, locked in conversation. The Rookie and Chewbacca waited patiently as they talked, their eyes never leaving the stone-still guards. Finally, they seemed to come to an agreement. Han Solo gripped the Hutt's grubby hand firmly, albeit a little reluctantly. They shook, and Han Solo stepped out of the crime boss' presence.

"Jabba," the smuggler said with a mocking smile. "You're a wonderful human being."

The obese alien scoffed and gestured for his guards to come with him. They walked out of the hangar, or in Jabba's case, slid, disappearing from view. Chewbacca roared.

"Jabba's a slimeball," Solo answered, walking up the ramp that lead to the _Millennium Falcon_'s interior. "But he's a smart one. Seventeen thousand credits is no small amount, and he was looking forward more to the money than to blasting my body to smithereens."

He threw his arms to the sky. "We got her back, Chewie!" he whooped. They high-fived.

Soon, the man, the boy, and two strange droids came inside the docking bay. The first one was a luminous gold, although a little dented and beaten from the years of travel. It moved in robotic, jerky movements, a curious tilt to its domed head as it looked around the hangar. The second was a thick, wide canister with two sliders attached to its side and probably used as arms. A blue stripe ran the length of its domed skull, and one red dot blinked on its face. Quirky beeps and whistles emitted from its speakers as it slid. The boy stopped as he assessed the _Falcon_. His blue eyes widened.

"What a piece of junk!" he cried, his displeasure evident.

"She'll make .5 past lightspeed," Solo remarked, wiping his hands on a rag he had been using to wipe the ship's abused exterior. "She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, kid. I made a lot of special modifications myself. But," he said, a hospitable smile forming on his dark features. "We're a little rushed, so if you'll just get onboard, we'll get out of here."

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The inside of the _Falcon_ was like the interior of a condominium owned by two rowdy frat boys, the Rookie mused in his head as he observed the custom frigate. Dirty clothes and metal parts lay strewn on the floor where the wookie and the smuggler dropped them when they no longer had use for it. The ramp led to a tubular corridor winding through the ship and opening into several rooms. There was a ladder running up to a small room where the turret controls were located. A swivel chair was hoisted to allow the shooter greater maneuverability.

Near the center of the ship was a spacious "game" room. A black and white checkered and circular game board was situated in front of a wide cushioned seat. Before the ODST could check more things out, the sounds of blasters were heard from the outside. The Rookie flipped the safety off his SMG and raced out of the room, through the white corridor, and down the ramp. He bumped into a nervous Han Solo on the way.

"Keep them occupied!" he yelled, sprinting for the cockpit.

Sure. He could do that.

The Rookie spied the white-armored soldiers firing at the large ship. He loosed a fragmentation grenade into their midst. The resulting explosion decimated many of them, but more kept coming. He fired his SMG.

The bullets ripped into the lead trooper, felling him in spurts of chipped armor, blood, bones, and guts. The troopers, dismayed at the deaths of their comrades by an unfamiliar slugthrower, paused.

That was all Chewbacca and Han Solo needed.

The Rookie lost his balance and gripped onto the wall as the ramp slowly closed, and the_ Falcon _hovered off the ground. He stumbled and leaned against the bulkhead as the engines roared, and the _Millennium Falcon_ took off into the atmosphere.

When the Rookie made it into the cockpit, they were already zooming off into the black expanse of space. The ODST had never been in a space-capable ship this large and strange before; his insides felt queasy and he had the urge to lie down on a bed. He steadied himself, taking a deep breath. Chewbacca snorted a warning to Solo, who was focusing on the controls.

"Looks like an Imperial cruiser," Han said, his thick brows furrowing. "Our passengers must be hotter than I thought." He stood. "Try to hold them off, angle the deflector shield while I make the calculations for the jump to lightspeed."

Chewbacca nodded. He pushed a lever on the panel and flipped a few switches above his head. Solo returned to the controls, sweat pouring down his forehead. "Stay sharp, there are two more coming in, they're going to try to cut us off."

"Why don't you try to outrun them?" the farm boy cut in, appearing in the cramped cockpit. His blue eyes were alight despite the desperate situation. "I thought you said this thing was _fast_!"

"Watch your mouth, kid, or you're going to find yourself floating home!" Solo barked. "We'll be safe enough once we make the jump to hyperspace."

The Rookie assumed that this "hyperspace" was this galaxy's equivalent to Slipspace. The name was not too outlandish, but the concept of a different form of FTL travel both intrigued and unnerved the hardened ODST.

"Besides, I know a few maneuvers, we'll lose 'em." Han murmured.

There was an unsettling rumble as two huge, green bars of superheated plasma lanced by the speeding frigate. The very fact that the vibration of a couple of energy beams caused three men and a full-grown wookie to falter and lose their balance scared the Rookie. He hadn't even seen the "two cruisers" yet, but he had a feeling they would be huge.

"This is where the fun begins," Han Solo said breathlessly, a silly grin stamped onto his face.

"How long before you make the jump to lightspeed?" the old man asked, clearly worried.

"Just a few moments before we get the coordinates from the NAV computer." Solo said, leaning back to check the data on the console.

"Are you kidding? They're right there, gaining!" the young man cried, pointing at the radar.

"Traveling through hyperspace ain't like dusting crops, boy!" Solo snapped, glaring at the rude kid. "Without precise calculations, we'd fly right through a star, or bounce too close to a supernova. That'd end your trip real quick, wouldn't it?"

Those facts unnerved the Slipspace-adapted soldier even more. Slipstream travel didn't have to face those staggering obstacles, and he found himself missing home even more. He gripped the metal chair, his calloused fingers turning white.

"What's that flashing?" the boy yelped, pointing at a red dot blinking on and on. Han slapped his arm, and the kid grimaced, pulling his hand back.

"We're losing the deflector shields," he explained calmly but grimly. "Go strap yourselves in, I'm going to make the jump to lightspeed!"

The Rookie quickly buckled himself in, preparing for the foreign sense of vertigo and nausea that had accompanied a jump into hyperspace. He closed his eyes, whispered a prayer, and they jumped.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The Rookie watched as the kid and the old man conversed quietly, the man in deep informative tones and the kid in light curious ones. He was seated next to Chewbacca, who was lying hunched over on a table. The droids watched in interest as the two humans talked. The man activated a strange metal orb, which promptly floated into the air. The blocky droid whistled excitedly. The boy watched open-mouthed as it hovered silently.

"Activate your lightsaber," the older man said gently. The boy took a silver cylinder from his waist and pressed the button. An emerald blade of energy was emitted, unlike the older man's blue. "Do not rely on your physical senses alone, Luke. Use the Force, and let it govern your actions."

The boy nodded absently, his eyes tracking the ball's every movement. When it struck, the red beam hit the boy's, Luke's, belly. He crouched over, groaning and rubbing his stomach. The old man sighed, his eyes closing.

"You have much to learn, my boy." he said.

"Maybe we can notch down the blaster a little, Ben," Luke gasped. "Then I can have a more productive learning experience, I think."

Ben sighed once more. Luke stood up, his hands on the back of his hips, stretching and taking big gulps of air. His bright eyes roved around the room, finally settling on the Rookie.

"Hi!" he said excitedly. He walked over, amicably extending an open hand. "I'm Luke Skywalker. I've seen you hanging around Solo and the wookie, but I never got a chance to talk with you personally."

The Rookie shook the hand firmly, noticing the young man wince at his grip. He loosened it a bit, not knowing his handshake had been so strong. "A pleasure. You don't need to know my name yet."

Luke arched a golden eyebrow. "Anyways, this is C-3P0," he said, pointing at the golden droid, who had started a game with Chewbacca.

"How do you do?" the droid said politely in what sounded like a British accent. "I am C-3P0, human protocol-"

"Yeah, yeah," Luke cut in. He gestured to the small blue-white droid in the corner. "That's R2-D2, an old astromech. He's nice, an a lot less talkative than golden boy over there."

R2-D2 whistled in greeting. The Rookie smiled beneath his helmet and gently rubbed his palm on the droid's metal skull. R2-D2 beeped and chirped happily.

The Rookie felt a pair of deep blue eyes watching him, and he met the gaze of Ben. The old man was staring at him curiously, a strange expression on his aged face. His lips moved wordlessly as he looked at the black-armored ODST.

"Where are you from, stranger?" Ben asked quietly.

"Again, you don't need to know the details. I'm from a place…far, far, away. Let's put it like that."

The wrinkled old man's eyebrows skyrocketed, and he leaned back, his unwavering gaze never leaving the Rookie. Luke finally interjected, brandishing his saber wildly as if it wasn't a superheated blade of pure energy. Ben frowned at the boy's actions.

"Do not act like a child, Luke. You are carrying a weapon of extreme honor and prestige. Treat it that way."

"Mr. Kenobi," Skywalker said. "Were the Jedi as great as the stories said about them, well, disregarding the Empire's usual kriff?"

"First of all, Luke, there shall be no language like that coming from your throat as long as I am alive, so watch your tongue. Second, yes, they were. They were the greatest order in existence, peacekeepers since the olden days, when there was no Empire, or even Republic. There seemed to be no end to our achievements, and there were little who could stand in our way. The Order's fall was unexpected and brutal; not many Jedi made it through." Ben looked up at the ceiling, his mellow blue eyes glazing over, as if remembering old days of past glory and joy. "Oh, Luke, the Jedi Order, at the height of their power, was a steady bastion of hope and light. I was one of them, and so was your father, as you know. You will be one too," Ben eyed the boy's too-wide stance. It resembled crouching down for a dump. "With the proper training. Once again, Shii-Cho Basic Stance."

The weary kid groaned and assumed the position. The Rookie found the little history lesson very interesting. He would try to learn more about these…Jedi…later. When things weren't to fucking confusing.

Luke sighed and readied himself. He was about to block another shot when Ben Kenobi clutched at his heart, a quiet but agonized sound issuing through clenched lips. He stumbled to the table, sitting down and breathing hard. His face was deathly white, and his thin brows were furrowed in pain and concentration.

"Are you alright?" Luke asked, walking over to his tortured mentor. "What's wrong?"

"I felt a great disturbance in the Force," Ben said, his voice troubled and quavering. "It was as if millions of voices cried out in terror, and suddenly there was silence." He looked away. "I feel something terrible has happened."

The words of foreboding struck a chord in the Rookie's heart. He remembered seeing dozens of Covenant cruisers blast a planet to molten glass, with thousands of civilians still abandoned on the surface. Countless times he had witnessed those horrifying moments, and he was glad that he wasn't going to experience them again. He wondered if they did what the old man had just described. He suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. The Rookie leaned forward.

"What do you think happened?" he asked in a low voice.

Ben glanced at him, his eyes clearing a fraction. He gave no answer, just another unfathomable gaze at the patient Rookie. The ODST waited, but soon gave up when the man's eyes moistened and took a far-away haze. He shrugged and resumed wiping his SMG with an oily rag.

"Get back to your exercises," he muttered to Luke, his head bowed.

Luke rubbed his mentor's shoulder and walked back, an anxious expression on his face. There were the sounds of boots on metal as Solo swaggered in. "Well, you can forget your troubles about those Imperial slugs," he announced proudly. "I told you I can outrun them."

Luke activated his lightsaber and promptly started to block laser shots, his concentration solely on the floating ball. Chewbacca and the golden droid were raptly focused on a holographic game featuring alien monsters, the small droid was whistling crazily, and Ben was still deep in sadness. Solo stared at them incredulously. "Don't everybody thank me at once." he said drily.

Chewbacca warbled in frustration as he figured out where to move. Han Solo rolled his eyes. "We should be at Alderaan at around 0200 hours."

Once again, everyone ignored him. The Rookie nodded once, and Solo gave him an appreciative glance.

C-3P0 stepped aside for R2-D2 to take over for him. The droid whistled excitedly as it make its move. "Now, be careful, R2!" C-3P0 warned sternly. The smaller droid pressed its port tube against the panel. One of its monsters, a red-black brute, plodded over and promptly smashed Chewbacca's piece to the ground. The wookie groaned and roared at the two droids. C-3P0 swerved to the side, looking at the enraged alien.

"You made a fair move," he said plainly. Lights flashed on his eyes and "mouth" as he spoke. "Screaming about it won't help you."

"You know it's not wise to upset a wookie," Solo told the protocol droid. "Especially one of his age and size."

"But sir," the golden humanoid robot complained. "Nobody worries about upsetting a droid!"

"'Cause a droid don't pull people's arms out of their sockets when they lose…" Han Solo supplied, a fierce grin on his face. C-3P0 started, staring at the huge wookie. "Wookies have been known to do that."

Chewbacca folded his hands behind his head, a pleased expression on his canine face.

"I see your point," C-3P0 said calmly. He turned to the small astromech droid. "I suggest a new strategy, R2. Let the wookie win."

Chewbacca warbled again, delighted.

The Rookie watched the exchange curiously, but ever silent. The band that had probably been thrust together was getting along quite well, it seems.

Ben had recovered from his depression a little while back, and now he was watching Luke's exercises with a critical eye.

"Remember, a Jedi can feel the Force _flowing_ through him."

"You mean it can control your actions?" Luke asked breathlessly, focused on the orb.

"Partially," Ben answered. "But it also obeys your commands."

The red beam struck Luke's thigh, and he yelped, jumping back in pain. Han's laughter rang derisively in the room. "Hokey religions and ancient weapons are not match for a good blaster at your side."

Luke deactivated his lightsaber and gave Solo a pointed look. "You don't believe in the Force do you?"

Han sighed exasperatedly. "Kid, I've flown from one side of this galaxy to the other, I've seen a lot of strange stuff, but I've never seen anything to make me believe that there's an all-powerful force controlling everything." He smirked at Luke. "There's no mystical energy field that controls _my_ destiny." The Rookie could see Ben smile nigh imperceptibly at the captain's smug comments. "It's all a lot of simple tricks and nonsense."

"I suggest you try it again, Luke," Ben said, rising from the table. He took a sturdy white helmet with an opaque visor from a shelf and handed it to the baffled Luke. "This time, let go your conscious self…" he placed it on the boy's head. "And act on instinct."

Luke chuckled. "With the blast shield down," he said, touching the blank visor, "I can barely see! How am I supposed to fight?"

"Your eyes can deceive you," Ben remarked. "Don't trust them."

They started again, and once more the shot hit Luke, this time on the left side of his chest. He hissed through the pain. Ben lifted his arms encouragingly. "Stretch out with your _feelings_."

"Don't focus on yourself," the Rookie cut in, much to everyone's surprise. "Don't be preoccupied on how _you _move, or how _you _act. Relax your body and your mind."

Luke nodded slowly. His shoulders dropped, and his body seemed to unwind like a rubber band that was stretched tight suddenly going limp. The orb fired three times, but Luke seemed to act before they even were shot. He blocked all three cleanly, impressing the Rookie. Ben smiled.

"See?" he said as Luke deactivated his lightsaber. "You can do it."

"I call it luck," Solo interjected, reclining on his swivel chair, unimpressed.

"In my experience," Kenobi replied, turning to the confident smuggler. "There's no such thing as luck."

"Look, 'good' against a remote is one thing," Han countered with a cocky grin, "'Good' against the living, that's something else."

There was a rhythmic beeping from the panel, and all jokes were set aside as Han Solo rose. "Looks like we're coming up on Alderaan."

He stood and walked back to the cockpit, Chewbacca right behind him. Luke approached his mentor, a satisfied smile on his boyish face. "You know, I did feel something," he said, excited. "I _could_ almost see the remote!"

"That's good!" Kenobi said, gripping Luke's shoulder. "You've taken your first step into the larger world."

Ben walked back to his corner. _Probably to think about the mysteries of life_, the Rookie mused thoughtfully. He looked up as the flushed-face boy walked up to him.

"Thanks for your last piece of advice back there," Luke said gratefully. "Ben was being kind of vague, like he usually is, but your words really helped me. Thanks…er…soldier…guy."

He turned to leave.

"You're welcome," the Rookie grunted, putting his SMG down and starting to work on his silenced mag. Luke's eyes brightened in appreciation. "Oh, and I'm not 'the soldier guy'."

Luke blushed, and he scratched the back of his head. "My bad. You see, I don't know your name-"

"James." The Rookie said. He extended his hand. "Call me James."

**AN: Hope you guys liked it. Thanks to all the reviewers who reviewed on the first chapter! Again, concerning the script, if you felt displeased at the fact that this went almost exactly like the beginning of **_**A New Hope**_**, my apologies. Review or PM me if you problems. Concerning the Rookie, his real name is estimated to be James, considering it was used in the game itself (by Buck). If you hate this story, don't read it (I hate flames). On a happier note, I will not decide to abandon this story, so expect updates (although not at a speedy rate). School's back, and all that crap. ANYWAYS, R&R PLEASE!**


	3. Mors Stella

**AN: Here's the third chapter. I'm not pleased with the way it came out, but I think I did okay. Hope you guys enjoy, even though it still is pretty much A New Hope with a confused ODST in the middle of it. Anyways, enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: **_**I do not own anything except my OC's.**_

The princess knew her time was coming.

When her beloved home was forcefully turned into a floating mass of rock and memories, the fortress she had constructed around her heart fell in ruin. Alderaan. A pang of grief wracked her chest as she lay on the cold metal bed of the prison cell. Beautiful, peaceful, Alderaan. Her father, her mother, her old friends.

A single tear rolled down her cheek as the memories ran through her mind.

Everything she loved was destroyed.

_No_, she thought with reinforced determination, _not everything_.

The soul of the Rebellion would not be diminished. She would assure that. The brave men, women, and species that fought the Empire would not be compromised, not by her. The vile Tarkin and the malicious Vader would not pry a single word from her mouth as long as she lived.

Which, of course, would not be very long…

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

**Alderaan…?**

"Alright, Chewie, here we go," Solo said, adjusting himself on his chair. He stood and pushed two levers on the upper dashboard panel. "Cutting the sublight engines."

The ship exited Hyperspace and immediately started rumbling ferociously, as if caught in the throes of a hurricane. Through the view window, the two smugglers could see a hail of asteroids tumbling wildly in space, small ones peppering the hull of the _Falcon_ endlessly. Chewbacca roared in distress.

"What the…" Han exclaimed. "Uh, we got out of hyperspace and entered some kind of meteor shower or asteroid collision."

Luke and Ben came in, confusion etched onto their faces. "It's not in any of the charts," Han murmured, puzzled.

"What's going on?" Luke cried, his eyes watching the storm of meteors hurtling to and fro.

"Our position is correct, except that..." Han grumbled, his eyes fixed onto the radar panel. The star charts were aligned perfectly, and their position was, supposedly, floating right above their destination. "There's no Alderaan."

"What do you mean, '_there's no Alderaan'_?" Luke replied impatiently.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, kid, it ain't there," Solo snapped. "It's been totally blown away."

"WHAT!" Luke yelled. He glanced at the smuggler captain, disbelief evident on his features. "HOW!"

"Destroyed," Ben Kenobi cut in, his voice completely devoid of disbelief or doubt. "By the Empire."

"An entire Star Fleet couldn't destroy the whole planet," Solo scoffed, glaring at the elderly Jedi. "It'd take a thousand ships and more firepower than I've ever-"

A frenzied beeping drew Solo's attention away from the conversation. He took a deep breath, resting his hands on the control panel. "There's another ship coming in," he announced in one breath.

"Maybe they can tell us what happened!" Luke added.

"An Imperial fighter," Ben answered, dispelling any pleasant thoughts.

The Rookie leaned on the side of the doorway, slowly sharpening his combat knife. Things were beginning to get slightly interesting at last. There was a rumble as a small, strange ship came diving out from behind them. The cockpit was small, only for one person. It was circle-shaped, with two rectangular panes on either side of it. It resembled a gray H with a ball in the middle.

"It followed us!" Luke cried.

"It's a short-range fighter," Ben corrected.

"There aren't any bases around here," Solo said disbelievingly. "Where'd it come from?"

"It sure is leaving in a big hurry," Luke yelled anxiously. "If they identify us we're in big trouble." He looked to Han.

"Not if I can help it. Chewie, jam the transmissions!"

The wookie leaned over and hurriedly pressed numerous buttons on the right panel.

"Might as well let it go," Ben said, trying to avoid any "Imperial entanglements". "It's too fat out of range!"

"Not for long!" Han disagreed.

There was silence as the _Millennium Falcon _pursued the small fighter into the depths of space.

"The tin can is tiny," James announced. The others jumped, not used to the silent warrior speaking. "A ship that size couldn't have gone this deep into space on its own."

"It might've gotten lost," Luke offered. "It must've been part of a…convoy, or something."

"Well, he ain't gonna be around long enough to tell anybody about us." Han interjected in a dangerous, monotone voice.

"Looks like he's heading for that small moon," Luke said. Sure enough, in the distance, a small gray speck floated eerily, stark against the black vacuum. The Rookie leaned forward, a pang of nervous energy suddenly sent racing through his body.

"That's no moon, kid," he muttered.

"It's a space station…" Ben finished, his voice grim and full of foreboding and awe.

Everyone froze. Han tore himself away from the controls to give the old man a skeptical look. "That thing is too big to be a space station."

"I have a very bad feeling about this," Luke sighed.

"Turn the ship around!" Ben and the Rookie warned simultaneously, both directed at the silent smuggler.

"Yeah…" Solo said, his eyes locked onto the "moon" but his hands working overtime to get the _Falcon_ on the opposite track. "I think you're right. We're going in reverse," he yelled, slamming a button on the dashboard. "Chewie! Lock in the artillery power!"

Chewie warbled anxiously and obeyed.

The ship began to shake. The occupants of the cockpit lost their balance. The knife dropped from the Rookie's hands as he joined the rest of them by the control panel.

"Chewie! LOCK IN THE ARTILLERY POWER!" Han repeated, sweat beginning to flow down his forehead.

"Why are we moving _towards_ it!" Luke exclaimed.

They were getting ever closer to the gargantuan orb. As they got nearer, the Rookie could clearly see geometric lines running down its length. Small turret towers poked out from the gray metallic hide, and a weird pit was pressed into the station. A horizontal line ran around the sphere, looking thin but very large when near to it. It was probably the hangar entrances, the Rookie mused.

"We're caught in a tractor beam," Han answered, furiously working the controls. "It's pulling us in!"

"There's got to be something you can do!" Luke yelled desperately.

"There's nothing I can do about it, kid, I'm at full power, and I'm going to have to shut down." Han leaned back and flipped a switch near the door. "They're not going to get me without a fight!"

"You can't win," Ben said soothingly to the battle-lusted captain. "There are other alternatives to fighting."

"You better name those alternatives, Kenobi," the Rookie replied in a low tone that chilled everyone in the room. "Because it's only going to get worse."

The _Falcon_ moved on its own, completely at the mercy of the space station's powerful tractor beam. Twin turrets watched their arrival, the humongous barrels tracing their every move. Tiny Imperial soldiers watched from an observation bay, tinkering with the controls.

The _Millennium Falcon _landed in a brightly lit hangar bay. Phosphorescent lights marked the floor and ceiling, bathing the stainless metal material that covered the room in a glaring glow. The light played off the rows of Imperial troopers' armor. They stood in an orderly circle around the entrance of the _Falcon_, black guns gripped in their immaculate gloves.

They were captured.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Darth Vader knew something was wrong with the newly-discovered freighter.

He had told Tarkin that they were returning the stolen plans, but the Sith Lord knew that alternative was highly unlikely. The princess was important to the bothersome Rebellion, but the fools wouldn't dare risk a chance at destroying one of the Empire's most fearsome weapons at the cost of one life. No matter how essential that one life was. No, this was no ransom situation.

Two curious feelings had blossomed inside Lord Vader's mind when he had first sighted the odd freighter. He had sensed two presences, one familiar and another not. The first he had sensed with much apprehension and disbelief. If it was truly the man he expected, then fate itself had ordained his reunion. There would be a battle, he was sure of that, and Vader was assured that he would be the victor.

The second was very strange. The Force was all-powerful, the perfect instrument wielded by ardent followers of the Dark Side, and he knew when something was out-of-place in the scheme of the universe. He was confident that this unknown presence was human; the aura was strife with the emotional tumult that was common among mankind. What intrigued the Sith was the wavelength of Force-sensitivity it was giving out.

Which was, shockingly, none at all.

Every being in the known universe possessed the enthrallment under the Force. It was only natural. Some were highly sensitive to it, much like the Jedi and the Sith. Others, although they carry a small trace of it, were not so gifted. This individual possessed no such trace whatsoever; it was utterly devoid of Force influence.

This sent an uncomfortable and involuntary tingle down Vader's spine.

The Sith Lord prickled at this. Nothing had ever frightened Darth Vader before, and nothing ever would. He had faced hordes of monsters and beat them to charred flesh. Scores of skilled Jedi warriors had faced them, and he had slain almost every single on, regardless of rank. He was a master of fear, not a petty slave like some many of the impudent dimwits who inhabited the Death Star. No, he would not be daunted by this unpredicted foil.

After he killed his old master, he would deal with the unknown.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The Rookie had never found himself in such an uncomfortable situation before in his life.

They had stolen away into some smuggling compartments hidden under the floorboards once they had landed in the Imperial hangar. Space was limited, but they had managed to fit themselves in without any trouble.

Well, without _much _ trouble.

Chewbacca's furry ass was pressing against the top of the Rookie's ODST helmet. He struggled and writhed under the weight of the humongous beast, who seemed to be enjoying sticking his posterior in the face of the newcomer. Han had to shush him twice when the ODST had spat a stream of expletives when the wookie let out a noisy fart. Plus, C-3P0 kept on pestering him with questions about his origin, despite the desperate situation he was in.

He was about to stick his SMG up Chewbacca's asshole and put a hole in the golden droid when the first Imperial team came in. They were dead silent when footsteps made their way over them. The searchers went around the ship twice, checking every nook-and-cranny. When they exited the ship, Han lifted the compartment covers and got out.

"Boy, its lucky you had these things," Luke sighed in relief.

"I use it for smuggling," Han answered, looking back to the ramp with his blaster in his hand. "I never thought I'd be smuggling myself." Ben got out, and Han shot him a glare. "This is ridiculous," he told him. "Even if I could take off, I'd never get past the tractor beam."

"Leave that to me," the old Jedi said, hoisting himself out of the hidden compartment.

"Damn fool," Han muttered. "I knew you were going to say that."

"Who's the more foolish?" Ben replied. "The fool, or the fool who follows him?"

Chewbacca stuck his head out of the basement, warbling in delight as he farted once more. Han chuckled and patted the alien's head. Chewbacca yelped in pain and literally jumped out of the compartment.

The Rookie clambered out, his SMG in hand. Han's chuckle increased. "You stuck it up his rear end?"

"My eyes started watering from the stench," the Rookie explained. Han's eyes wandered over to the smooth gun the ODST held.

"How long do you think that'll last?" he asked. "There ain't no slugthrower like that around here, so either you make your own bullets or ditch it and get a reliable blaster."

The Rookie shrugged.

There was heavy clanking and the squeak of wheels on metal on the ramp. Two men in gray Imperial uniforms and black caps walked in, bringing a cart loaded with foreign mechanics and material. They stopped, their eyes widening when they caught sight of the motley band standing before them.

Chewbacca stepped forward and clutched both of their heads. Before they could scream or move, the wookie smashed their skulls together. There was a sickening crack, and the two engineers slumped in the alien's grip. Chewbacca warbled in pleasure and dropped the two broken men in the compartments, their cranium's fractured to bits. Han grinned and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Hey, down there!" he called, drawing the attention of the two guards stationed on the entrance. "Could you give us a hand with this!"

They, thinking that they were the engineers from before, walked inside.

Han shot both of the troopers before they could retaliate, blasting a smoking crater in each of their chests. Chewbacca dragged their corpses to the compartments and dropped them alongside the dead engineers. Han and Luke hastily took off the troopers' armor and started to put them on.

"Here's the plan," Han told them urgently, strapping the breastplate to his chest. "Chewbacca, you're a wookie prisoner of ours that we found hiding in the rest quarters. You, er…"

"James." The Rookie answered.

"James, right, you're a bounty hunter. Both of you are partners in crime, and we're sending you to the brig. Got it?"

James, a.k.a the Rookie, wasn't so sure on spending the rest of the trip alongside the gassy wookie, but if they wanted to live, then it was what he had to do. Chewbacca wasn't too glad with the arrangement either, and he stuck a giant tongue at the ODST.

They exited through the back door while Luke stayed behind. They ran to the watch post, where inside, two Imperial officers were overseeing the affairs of the hangar. The two droids hampered their speed, so the Rookie kept looking back to see if any troopers had caught sight of them. Luckily, they made it to the door.

"Any minute now, the kid's going to draw them out…" Han muttered through the speakers of his new helmet.

Sure enough, the door slid open, revealing a shocked officer in a brown uniform. Chewbacca roared and smacked him on the face, sending him flying into a row of barrels. The other officer rose to his feet, his hand reaching for a pistol at his waist. Han lifted his blaster rifle and fired.

The man flew back, his chest a smoking mess.

Luke sprinted into the control room, pressing a button to close the door behind him. He removed his helmet, revealing his sweaty features. "You know, between his howling and your blasting everything in sight it's a wonder everyone in the whole station doesn't know we're here!"

Han arched an eyebrow and lifted his gun. "Bring 'em on, I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around!"

C-3P0 looked up from where he and R2 were tinkering with the controls. "We've found the computer outlet, sir!"

"Plug in," Ben said, nodding. "We should be able to interpret the entire Imperial network."

R2 whistled and inserted his hard drive into the outlet. His head rotated as his systems adjusted to the station's network. The little astromech's work reminded James of the UNSC AIs that he had worked with. Another memory from his past popped up in his mind, that of a floating alien with a worm-like head accompanying them through the abandoned ruins of New Mombasa.

"Vergil," he whispered.

"What?" Luke said.

"Nothing."

C-3P0 nodded, listening to the beeps of R2 attentively. "He says he found the main controls to the power beam holding the ship here. He'll try to make the precise location appear on the monitor."

A green schematic of the tractor beam generator fizzled onto the upper screen. "The tractor beam is coupled to the main reactor in seven locations," C-3P0 informed the Jedi. "A power loss at one of the terminals will allow the ship to leave."

Ben nodded and gave a grave look to Han and Luke. "I don't think you boys can help," Ben said. He locked gazes with James. "You, come with me."

The Rookie, although a bit surprised, nodded and hefted his SMG.

"Whatever you say," Han grumbled. "I've got more than what I've bargained for on this trip already."

Luke gripped Ben's shoulder as he approached the door, a worried expression on his young face. "I want to go with you!"

"Be patient, Luke," Ben encouraged. He gestured to C-3P0 and R2-D2. "Stay and watch over the droids. They must be delivered safely, or other star systems will suffer the same fate as Alderaan." Ben gently touched the boy's arm. "Your destiny lies on a different path than mine."

The old Jedi hermit opened the door and gave Luke an almost fatherly look. "The Force will be with you…always."

Ben turned to the Rookie.

"James, it's time to go."

James nodded, sidling up to him outside the control room. Luke gave one more worried glanced, and then the door slid down, barring them from sight. Ben sighed wearily, as if he had been holding his frailty for the longest time ever. James touched his shoulder.

"You okay, sir?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Kenobi said gratefully. "I am beginning to think I'm getting too old for this."

The Jedi began to fast-walk down the reflective hallway, the Rookie calmly pacing beside him. They walked in silence around the ever-winding corridor. The Rookie almost fired his gun twice when he thought he saw the reflection of an Imperial trooper's armor on the polished floor, but the overhead lights were only playing tricks on him. Agitatedly, he caught up to the quick-paced Jedi.

"Why did you choose me out of the whole group?" he asked in a low voice. "Why not Luke?"

"My friend, Luke Skywalker's fate is on a steady course to a destination where mine cannot achieve, in this life or the next. Entangling his destiny with mine will only mean utter disaster."

"What I mean is, why did you pick _me_?"

Ben gave him another unfathomable stare. Hidden knowledge twinkled in the man's blue eyes, further irritating the ODST. "You're not telling me-"

They pulled back into the hallway behind them, conversation postponed by the arrival of a troop of Imperial soldiers marching across the hall. Soon, they were gone, their footsteps receding into the distance.

"All will come to pass, James," Kenobi answered quietly. "For now, we must ensure your escape."

They continued to walk cautiously when Ben suddenly leaned against the wall, his right palm clutching the bulkhead so tightly his fingers were white. The Rookie set a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Something wrong…?" he asked.

"He is near us," the hermit whispered ominously. "He can sense my presence already."

"Who? What are you talking about?" the Rookie demanded.

"No matter. All shall come to pass. Come, we must hurry."

The old man swept away, his brown cloak fluttering behind him. The Rookie sighed exasperatedly and flexed his hands. He had had enough of this mysterious shit. He wanted answers, and he wanted them soon. James didn't care if the old fart was part of an extinct warrior order or a damn janitor, the Rookie wasn't one to be left without proper intel.

_Whoa there, James. Relax. Show the man some respect. You'll get answers soon, just like he said. Wait._

He breathed in and out, relaxing his trigger finger. He dropped the gun down a fraction. _You're just suffering from nerves, that's all. Get your head in the game, and start acting_. He quietly followed Ben down the hall.

They came into an open corridor dominated by black-uniformed officials. The Rookie grabbed the old man by the shoulders, pulling him back. "We can't go through there," he growled. "The alarm would go off the moment they see us."

Ben smiled. "Do not underestimate the power of the Force."

With that, he walked out into the open. James cursed, lifting his gun in preparation for the white-armored tide. Seconds passed, and no one came. Ben was standing amiably in the middle of the walking officers, his arms spread wide and a mischievous smile on his weathered face. "What did I say?"

"How did you do that?" the Rookie asked, coming up to the Jedi carefully. A young man in a crisped tan uniform walked past him, his hands carefully folded on his back. There was no indication that the Imperial had seen either the Jedi or the Rookie. "Why aren't they noticing us?"

"The Force can do many things, James," Kenobi explained, walking down the hall calmly. "Even alter the perception of the mind. To them, we are not here at all."

"What if we touch them?" James inquired, eyeing an Imperial trooper standing beside a door.

"Then the mind trick would be severed, and we would surely be killed," Ben replied gravely. "Oh, yes, do not touch anyone."

"You don't need to tell me twice."

Ben's eyes lightened as he spotted an entrance to their left. "Ah, here it is. The tractor beam generator."

They walked inside. The Rookie gingerly stepped into the vast room. All that consisted for a floor was a five-foot wide path; the rest was a hundred meter drop into total darkness. In the middle of the ovular chamber was a vertical spike jutting from top to bottom, a thin railing the only thing a person could use to operate it. It was split in the middle, a blue halo shining in the center of the bottom parted side. Control modules blinked perpetually around its width, and there was a constant humming around the room.

"This must be one of the terminals," James whispered.

"That it is," Ben Kenobi replied. Carefully, the man stepped out of the main path and into the little railing around the generator. The Rookie lunged forward, hand outstretched. "No, no," Kenobi said with a wave of his hand. "I need no assistance. I am not _that_ old."

Ben disappeared behind the module. Footsteps and voices sounded from the opposite entrance. The Rookie banged his fist on the terminal. "We've got company!"

"Deal with them!" the Jedi answered, his voice muffled. "Try not to be too loud!"

"All my weapons are silenced." the Rookie replied.

"Good. Now, silence _them_."

The Rookie was almost about to laugh at the cheesy comment when the first troopers came in. The lead soldier froze at the sight of the black-armored stranger. "Who are you?" he asked.

James responded by emptying his clip into the soldier and the two behind him. They fell wordlessly to the ground, bright blood seeping from the dozens of bullet holes peppering their body armor. The remaining troopers were too stunned to react. The Rookie fired into the mass of soldiers, literally choking the thin corridor with Imperial bodies. There was a decrease in the intensity of the humming, and Ben walked out from behind the terminal. He frowned at the sight of the corpses.

"Surely you could've been less brutal," Kenobi remarked. "Stormtroopers have done much wrong, but-"

"So that's what they're called?" the ODST interjected. He rolled one of the dead soldiers over with his boot. "I can tell you one thing, they don't live up to their name."

"Maybe it is _your_ skill that should be taken into account, not theirs," Ben commented with a grin. "I digress. Why the bloodshed?"

"You wanted them silenced, so I silenced them," the Rookie put it bluntly. He reloaded his rifle. "You plasma users must not be used to all the blood, since your guns cauterize every single hit."

Ben gave a sidelong glance at James. "You'd be surprised, my friend."

The haunted look in the old Jedi's eyes sent a chill down the ODST's spine. He looked away. "What now?" he asked.

"We go back to the ship," Ben answered, stepping over the mound of ruined bodies. "The tractor beam should be down, now that I disabled one of the terminals. There, we wait for the others to see if they managed to stay alive."

"Sounds like a plan."

They moved down the corridor, hurrying down the way that hopefully led to the ship. Suddenly, two Stormtroopers blocked their path, their guns hanging limply in their relaxed grips.

"What the-!" one of them exclaimed.

Ben ignited his lightsaber, the bright azure blade illuminating the dimly lit corridor. He moved in a flash, the sword coming down in a shining arc. The first trooper fell, a gaping wound splitting his arm from his chest. Steam poured from his body as the soldier twitched on the floor. The second trooper reacted quickly, backing up and firing at the old Jedi. Kenobi flicked his lightsaber twice, deftly deflecting the two shots the trooper had fired in a panic. The Jedi's usually soft blue eyes hardened to icy glaciers, and he slashed.

The stormtrooper's helmet dropped at the Rookie's feet, smoke kissing from the mangled neck. James kicked it out of his path and stared at the old hermit warrior.

"I don't think I'm the only one guilty of your accusations…"

Ben sighed, his eyes softening once more. He deactivated his lightsaber, wearily fastening it to his hip as if it weighed a ton. "Aye. I have done what had to be done. I apologize for questioning your actions earlier. It seems…" he sighed once again. "I have not done this sort of thing for far too long."

The Rookie nodded understandingly.

They continued to move stealthily down the winding corridors, avoiding the stormtroopers that crossed their paths. They moved in a hurry, painfully oblivious to the pair that often hid in the path of a stray glance. _Han and the others must be giving them quite a struggle_, the Rookie mused.

Ben stopped mid-step, his body frozen as if it were a statue. Ever so slowly, his wrinkled hand crept to the hilt of his lightsaber. The Rookie crouched, SMG lifted. "What's wrong?" he whispered. "What do you sense?"

"He is waiting for me," Kenobi whispered quietly, his lips barely moving. He moved his head a slight fraction, fixing his gaze on the crouching ODST. "Go," he ordered. "Now. Your weapons, no matter how destructive they appear, can do nothing."

"I'll stay with you. What's out there that can be so bad…?"

A presence suddenly filled the room with a disturbing chill.

The Rookie couldn't tell if it was man or machine at first. It stood frighteningly tall, reaching a height akin to the genetically-augmented SPARTANs from his own galaxy. Its shadow seemed to fill every inch of the hallway, looming above them like a sentient being. A black cape, smooth as liquid, was draped over a mechanical suit, its breastplate filled with dials, blinking lights, and buttons. Its helmet was curiously shaped, an oblong face plate encased in a curved protection palate. Its mouthpiece was triangular and jutted; it should have given the figure a comical look, but it did quite the opposite. It wasn't any help to the Rookie that it was also dressed in all black. Strange, labored breaths emitted raggedly from its throat, giving the impression that the unknown figure was near death. It began to walk, however, dispelling any thoughts of hope in James' mind.

A crimson lightsaber, opposite to the one held in Ben's hand, was pointed almost casually to the ground. It hummed dangerously, hungry for blood and smoked flesh. The thing's footsteps clacked eerily in the empty hall.

Ben ignited his lightsaber.

"I've been waiting for you, Obi-Wan," the figure announced. The man's voice was deeper than any baritone James had ever heard, electronically rasped through the curious helmet's speakers. "We meet again at last."

Ben's eyes hardened. James sidled closer to him, goose bumps popping up all over his body. _Damn, James_, he thought nervously. _You haven't been this afraid since your first combat drop. What the hell's wrong with you! You're an ODST, for God's sake! This fucker is only a walking machine!_

However, he knew it was quite the opposite. Whatever this man was, it was something obscenely dangerous, more dangerous than any Brute or Elite that had ever crossed his path. An aura of absolute power, a fear-inducing aura, leaked from every pore of the man/machine's body, radiating like a toxic substance. Instinctively, the Rookie stepped back.

"Do not be afraid, James," Ben whispered so quietly it was almost imperceptible. "He uses fear as an agent. If you let it overcome you, he has already won."

"The circle is now complete," the figure stated, pacing ever closer. Kenobi looked pitifully tiny compared to the sinister behemoth. "When I left you, I was but the learner, now _I_ am the master."

"You are only a master of evil, Darth." Ben replied calmly.

The Jedi attacked first. The other man moved surprisingly fast for someone of his intimidating size. He parried Ben's blow, pushing forward and striking for the hermit's exposed side. Ben gritted his teeth and blocked the blow, striking in a double flurry. His opponent halted both attacks in their tracks, stepping back to allow more space for him to strike. Ben twirled as quick as a snake, slashing horizontally at the dark figure. The "Darth" smashed his blade against Kenobi's, pushing the Jedi back a few paces. Kenobi's former pupil, from what James had gathered, brought down his saber upon the bulkhead the elderly Jedi had been leaning against only milliseconds before. Sparks flew from the bright gash in the metal wall, causing Ben to narrow his eyes as he backed away.

They stood off for a moment, their blades pointed threateningly at each other's faces.

"You powers are weak, old man," the man said stated contemptuously.

"You can't win, Darth," Ben replied, his face a mask of utter concentration. "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possible imagine."

Ben bared his teeth and struck again.

"You should not have come back." the black figure said ominously, parrying the blow.

The Rookie, having circled around the pair, fired his SMG into the man/machine's unprotected back.

He moved faster than the Rookie thought possible, faster than any man he had ever seen. The red blade slashed quicker than the eye could see, turning the bullets into sparks of molten slag. James locked eyes with the figure's bulbous eyepieces, and suddenly, they were right in front of him.

The ODST felt as if a sledgehammer had crashed into his chest. He heard his body armor splinter, and underneath, bones fragmented. He had the vague sensation of flying through the air. James smashed into the wall, eliciting another painful groan from his mouth. Blood splattered the inside of his visor.

"What have we here, Obi-Wan?" the powerful man taunted. "An Outsider?"

Ben stood there, frozen in shock.

"He is devoid of the Force, that I deduced early on. Curious indeed, but I shall find out his secrets later." The cyborg looked down at the fallen Rookie. The blank orbs stared overbearingly at James, sending a thrill or absolute terror down his body. The black-suited enemy of Kenobi tore his gaze away from the ODST and back at the hermit. "That is, after I kill you."

"Kill me, maybe," Ben answered determinedly. "However, he will not remain in your clutches for longer."

"Oh?"

"He is far more important than you can even imagine, Vader," Ben replied confidently. "His fate is tied with this galaxy."

"And who has told you this?" Vader inquired almost mockingly.

Ben smiled sadly. "Why, Qui-Gon, of course."

"That name is nothing to me now, Obi-Wan," Darth answered darkly. "As are all the names that pledged allegiance to your wretched order. He is dead, Kenobi, as you will be."

Vader attacked.

The Rookie attempted to rise as the two bitter enemies fought. From the way he winced every time he moved an inch, Vader's boot might as well have caved in his chest cavity. Muttering expletives under his breath, James lifted himself to his feet. Stormtroopers were gathered around the duo, half-heartedly lifting their guns. They knew that if they fired they would risk hitting Lord Vader, and that would be an offense bearing an unimaginable punishment.

Suddenly, from behind the wall of stormtroopers, a familiar blue-eyed, sandy-haired face popped out. Han, Chewbacca, and the droids were quickly scampering onto the unguarded _Millennium Falcon_ in the hangar. Luke's eyes widened in horror as he spied his mentor and Vader squaring off.

Ben glanced to his left. He saw Luke behind the troopers, and when he did, a curious smile appeared on his aged features. A content one. He gave Vader, who was left bewildered at the sight of the smile, an almost mischievous grin.

The Rookie stumbled forward, a cry of defiance and desperation choking back in his throat.

Ben closed his eyes, a look of rapt concentration on his calm face. He brought his lightsaber up, vertical to his body like a knight of old. A Jedi Knight.

Vader, seizing the opportunity, struck.

Ben's cloak fell upon Vader's mighty slash, dropping as if untenanted. James, despite his shock, soon found out that there wasn't a body inside the coat at all. It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi's body vanished without a trace.

"NOOOOOO!" came Luke's strangled cry.

The stormtroopers whirled around, catching sight of the farm boy instantly. They began to fire haphazardly, surprised to see so many of their enemies at their backs. Han fired, slaying a trooper instantaneously.

"James!" he called over the din of plasma fire. "GET OVER HERE!"

He needed no urging.

The Rookie literally felt his feet skim over the ground as he sped past Vader, who was prodding the empty cloak of his enemy in a silent trance. As soon as he got away from the monster, a weight was lifted from his stomach. _Stormtroopers? Piece of cake._

He lifted his SMG and bashed a trooper's skull from behind. The soldier dropped like a rock. The Rookie leapt over him, firing behind his back as he sprinted to the _Falcon_. Han and Chewbacca provided covering fire as he dove into the shelter of the freighter.

He aimed and fired at the clustered troopers.

_Click._

"Damn," he muttered, reaching for another magazine.

He found none.

He knew he would run out of ammo sooner or later, but _now_? He cursed, shouldering his SMG and taking out his pistol. He braced and fired two rounds. Two stormtroopers fell, blood spurting from a hole in their helmet like a fountain. He fired and fired, part rage and part desperation, dropping white bodies like tin cans.

His pistol clicked empty, and he searched his body for more rounds. "Shit shit shit," he groaned. He had forgotten to pack more mag ammo before his team's drop to the Halo ring. He threw his pistol to the ground in frustration and hightailed it up the gang plank. Han lifted an eyebrow as he fired his blaster at the oncoming ride of stormtroopers.

"What happened?" he asked loudly.

"We shut down the terminal, but that bastard stopped us on our way here," James replied, indicating Vader with a tilt of his head. "He killed Ben."

"Ah, kriff," Solo spat.

Chewbacca roared in dismay.

James noticed Luke firing wildly at the troopers, way out in the open. He cursed and sprinted after him. He dodged and weaved through the lances of energy flashing all around him until he reached the maddened Luke.

"Come on, kid!" he bellowed into his ear. "Let's go!"

"HE KILLED BEN!" the farm boy cried, outraged beyond belief. "THAT BASTARD KILLED BEN!"

"I know, Luke, but there's nothing we can do about it! We have to go! NOW!"

Luke made a strangled sound in his throat, fresh tears pouring from his face. He gave o last furious look at the dark figure in the background. Luke turned to the Rookie and nodded.

They raced back to the _Falcon_, careful not to get blasted to smithereens by the stormtroopers. James smirked behind his visor. They were either going faster than he expected or the so-called elite corps of the Empire had terrible aim. He reached the ship and roughly tossed the boy into the interior. He clambered inside, almost bumping into someone.

"Sorry-" he began.

It was a lady, all in white. She was petite, but slender, and her deep brown hair was tied into two buns above her ears. She was pale as the moon, but quite beautiful.

"Who are you?" James asked.

"Who are _you_?" she asked, her eyes narrowing into slits.

_Rude, too._

The ship rumbled, signaling their lift-off. James left the woman where she stood to punch the controls for the ramp. The entrance plank shut with a hiss. Soon, they were off.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Luke was leaning down on the table, a forlorn expression on his young face. The droids were seated in front of him, looking quite compassionate, if droids could convey that sense. The Rookie sighed and started sharpening his combat knife, the only weapon he had from home.

The woman came in bearing a blanket, which she carefully draped over Luke's shoulders.

"I can't believe he's gone…" he said solemnly.

"There wasn't anything you could've done." she replied.

Han came sprinting over from the cockpit, eyeing the two with empathy but rock-hard focus. "C'mon, buddy, we're not over this yet."

Luke rose to accompany Solo, but James placed a gentle hand on the boy's chest.

"Stay here," he ordered. "I'll take care of it."

"But I want to help!" Luke said, his eyes watering.

"Fine," Han snapped impatiently. "Both of you can help. Man the turrets while I stay in the cockpit with Chewie!"

He sprinted back.

The Rookie and Luke raced over to the ladder that lead to the turret stations. James climbed up, placing himself in the mobile seat and control panel. He adjusted himself, placing the comlink headgear on his helmet. The Rookie could see the turret itself and a good portion of space through the round window in front of him.

"Are you ready, Luke?" he asked.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"_Here they come!_" Han yelled through the COM.

Four of the small ships from earlier came swooping down, firing green lasers at the _Falcon_. The ship rumbled as it took the hits. James clucked his tongue, angling the starboard turret so that it faced a fleeing fighter. A beeping sounded from his targeting module, and he pressed the trigger.

The seat shook as the turret fired a heavy turboblaster at the small ship. It connected, turning the fighter into a ball of flame and metal. He gave a shark-like grin.

"_Way to go, James! You too, kid! Keep it up!" _Han roared into the COM.

There was another turret shot, from Luke's side, and a fighter exploded. _Two more_, James figured. Sure enough, a dup of the tiny ships hurtled into view, firing all they had at the _Falcon_. The overhead lights went crazy, and sparks fell on the Rookie's shoulders.

"_We lost lateral controls!_" the woman cried out.

"_Don't worry, she'll hold!_" Han assured her, his voice breaking. "_It'll take more than a couple of TIE-fighters to take down the _Millennium Falcon."

James swerved to the right, locking in on the advancing TIE-fighter. He gritted his teeth and fired. The lasers hit the fighter, downing it instantly. _One more_. He spied the last TIE-fighter zooming around the freighter, peppering the damaged ship relentlessly. Luke tried to nab him, but he was already far out of range. James licked his lips, watching the ship pull in. He fired twice at its rear, causing it to gain speed. Just before it went out of range, the Rookie angled the turret _ahead_ of the TIE-fighter and fired.

The fighter, at too high of a velocity to halt, flew right into the streak of superheated plasma. The explosion reflected off of the ODST's visor, illuminating his sweaty face. The others cheered through the COM.

"_Nice one, James!_" Luke hollered. _"That was great shooting there!_"

"Thanks," James replied. "I guess."

"_No need to be modest, buddy, you just blasted three Imperial TIE-fighters to smithereens in your first space battle. Congrats!_"

Chewbacca muttered something darkly, earning a reprimand from Solo. James chuckled. The _Falcon_ raced through the void, flying away until the gargantuan space station was but a pinprick against the dark. His shoulders dropped, loosening from the adrenaline-fueled tension that had gripped him from the moment they saw the giant station. James flexed his fingers, thinking of the terrifying…Darth Vader…that had nearly broken him with a single kick. He remembered Ben's cloak falling to the ground, and he shuddered. He would not forget that man, as long as he lived.

"_Good work…James,_" the lady suddenly said into the COM, surprising the ODST. "_I'm Princess Leia, co-leader of the Rebel Alliance. We could use a man of your skill set._"

Rebel Alliance? So there _was_ opposition to the Galactic Empire. The Rookie slowly tapped his chin. "Interesting. What's in it for me?"

"_The chance to take down a maniacal empire of evil and restore the hopes of people all across the galaxy."_

Ben Kenobi's death had to be avenged, he was sure of that. What better thing was there to do, anyways? Get scammed by crime bosses while on the run with Han Solo and Chewbacca. James grinned. "Sounds like my kind of job. Where do I sign up?"

**AN: Weak ending, I know. I was iffy on this chapter, but oh well. I needed to get this part over with anyway. If you liked it, then YAY! If not, then I blame myself . Till next update, I guess. PLEASE R&R! **

**P.S: Don't know if any of you guys are aware, but there's a new web-series coming out this month called Halo: Helljumper, based on the short story Dirt by Tobias Buckell in Halo: Evolutions. The trailer looks tight, so does the sneak-peak, and plus its live-action, so basically fanboys/girls all around the world will be super excited. Looking forward to it more than Halo: Faith, live-action fan-made film, but who knows, I might see both. Check out their website at Home Page - Halo Helljumper. **


	4. Infiltration

**AN: Do not panic. I am not dead. I have merely resurfaced from an agonizing bout of writer's block and repeated intervals of banging my head against my desk and freaking out my siblings. Anyways, YEAH, another chapter! I wrote this after a lightning zap of inspiration, so excuse me if there's mistakes, typos, etc. I kind of zipped through it. Enjoy!**

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

**Massassi Outpost **

The Rookie slowly laced his fingers and set them under his chin like a steeple. His body was calm and composed, betraying no emotion or visible stress outside the matte black figure. His breathing came in relaxed intervals, the sound muffling his ears through the compressed helmet. The ODST was silent, as he had been all those years.

However, inside, his mind was racing.

"_The space station is heavily shielded and carries firepower greater than half the star fleet._"

So the bogie was a tough nut to crack, that much he deduced. That concept wasn't anything new, though. He had cracked tough nuts before, and he was sure he could do it again. From what he'd heard, however, the thing could turn a whole planet to space dust, presumably what happened to Alderaan. Alderaan, a planet twice the size of Earth.

"_It's__ defenses are designed around a direct large-scale assault. A small one-man fighter should be able to penetrate the outer defense._"

Huh. If the entire station was designed to defend against a large-scale assault, wouldn't it have little trouble taking down one tiny fighter? The Rookie shook his head. He wasn't of this galaxy, so he had no idea what could work and what couldn't.

"_Well, the Empire doesn't consider a small one-man fighter to be any threat, or they'd have a tighter defense. An analysis of the plans provided by Princess Leia has demonstrated a weakness in the battle station._"

Sounded good so far. Of course, anything that sounded at least a bit hopeful was like ambrosia to pre-battle jitters.

"_The approach will not be easy. You are required to maneuver straight down this trench and skim the surface to this point. The target area is only two meters wide. It's a small thermal exhaust port, right below the main port. The shaft leads directly to the reactor system. A precise hit will start a chain reaction which should destroy the station._"

The Rookie remembered an instance when his team had been ordered to complete a mission that seemed almost impossible to finish. In their CO's words, it was the "easiest motherfucker a ground pounder could get".

In Romeo's words: "_Easy! Bangin' your momma Friday night was easy! This!This is the hardest motha-_"

Whack!

_"We'll do it, sir."_

Disregarding uncouth language and nigh-insubordination, the emotion was nearly the same. He knew what these rebels were aiming to do was tantamount to suicide, but he was powerless to do anything about it. After all, he had no idea how to fly a starship. He was utterly, and indefinitely, useless.

And that was what pissed him off the most.

He wrung his fingers stressfully.

_You're useless, James. You can't do _anything.

He wasn't useless, though! He could _do_ something! He could've helped! He needed to help!

The Rookie paused in his reverie.

Why _did_ he need to help?

This wasn't his home. This wasn't his war. This wasn't his rebellion. Hell, the only reason he had joined the two smugglers and gotten into this whole mess was to save his own life, and now he was going to go endanger it? Fighting the empire wasn't his responsibility. He was ODST to the core…it was all he knew.

And now…all that was gone.

It was just him now. There was no Pelican drop to lend him ammo and reinforcements. He couldn't call in an orbital strike anymore. There was no concrete enemy to fight. He was in a world where humanity was divided, where aliens ran amok across the galaxy, millions of species more than the Covenant.

Dare, Buck, Dutch, Romeo, and Mickey…his team.

For the first time, James realized how alone he really was.

And that terrified him.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

"Hey, new guy! Wake up!"

He felt a kick to his thigh, and the Rookie woke up.

A man in the blue and white uniform accustomed with the Rebellion was leaning over him, a curious expression on his young features. James gently pushed the man away, shaking his head to rouse himself from his stupor. He lay against the wall inside the hangar, where he had plopped down in lethargic defeat after his contemplation. Activity was slow; a few people were milling about aimlessly, chatting and fixing equipment. The vast room was near-silent save for the low conversation.

The Rookie slowly got up, stretching his limbs like a cat. The black-haired rebel stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and awe. The ODST nodded to him in farewell and began to walk towards the exit. To his irritation, the man slowly fell into step alongside him.

"So…where are you from?"

James ducked through the exit and entered a hallway, ignoring the man's comments.

"You don't talk much, do you? Are they all silent where you come from?"

The Rookie turned the corner, dodging a pair of Bothans on the way. They turned and snarled at him, lifting their furry muzzles at the outsider. The ODST shrugged off the hostility and continued on.

"Come to think of it, where are you from?"

James sighed, stopped, and turned to face the blabbering rebel. The young man leaned in curiously, his face mere inches from the ODST's visor.

"Hmmm. You don't talk much, do-"

The Rookie repressed the urge to throw the intruding man against the wall. He slowly breathed in out his nose. _Control yourself. You served-you still serve-with the best Special Forces unit in the galaxy. No curious youth will inflame your temper._ He promptly turned heel and continued to walk.

A while later, he noticed that the man was not following him. He sighed in relief. Finally. More alone time.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Leia leaned over the TAC board, eyes locked onto the satellite imaging of the Empire's deadliest weapon: the Death Star. Blooms of fire dotted the gray hull of the superweapon, indicating the fierce battle raging on its surface. Somewhere in that mess of death and destruction was Luke…along with the brave men and women who fought for the continuation of the Rebellion.

Around the princess stood several of her advisors, generals, and aides, all raptly focused on the motion feed of the battle. Dodonna had his arms folded across his chest, one hand propped on an elbow to stroke his bushy white beard. His eyes were locked onto the scene; processing and analyzing every move. Willard was sweating buckets, dark spots coating his underarms and collar. Leia faced him and gave him an encouraging smile. Willard tried one back, but the expression made him look like he was undergoing bad bowel movements. _The commander of the Rebel forces scared out of his wits_, Leia muttered in her head, _this isn't going too great._

A frenzied beeping arose from the panel. Dodonna's hand lashed out like a hawk and brought the list to his face, eyes flitting back and forth from the words flashing on the screen and the roster in his hands.

"That was Red Six," he grunted, pity welling in his eyes. "Control malfunction."

"Which one was that, again?" one of the tacticians put in inquisitively.

"Porkins." Dodonna bit out.

There was a collective gasp.

"He will be missed." Willard offered sadly.

Leia, despite the brave man's death, cleared her throat and looked on at the battle. Everything was hanging by a thread, a weakening thread on which hung the entire weight of the Rebel Alliance. She bit her lip. Leia detached herself from her reverie and walked away, her fingers nursing her aching temples. She felt something warm and padded block her way. She looked up, surprised. A young man with boyish dimples and brown hair was smiling down at her. She couldn't resist a smile herself.

"I'm sorry," she chuckled. "I'll be out of your way."

She moved to go around him.

"Sorry?" the man said almost incredulously. He gently grabbed her arm. "You're right where I want you to be."

He withdrew a blaster from the inside of his jacket and pressed it against her side.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The Rookie knew something was wrong when he heard a blast, a grunt, and a thud around the corner he was just going to round. He stopped, statue still.

The straw-haired man rounded the bend, a smoking blaster in his hand. He was dressed in scarred yellow armor, the breastplate and greaves worn and torn as years-old leather. A scar ran from his left temple to his chin, pulling the skin tight around the grisly wound. Cold gray eyes widened in surprise as he spotted the ODST.

James dove forward, wrapping both arms around the intruder's midsection and tackling him to the ground. He slammed a fist on the man's gun hand. The man snarled and cursed as the pistol went flying away. The Rookie reached for his sidearm, but his enemy was fast.

The intruder wrestled with James for the pistol, using one hand to attain the sidearm while the other mercilessly pounded the ODST's stomach. James grunted under each blow. The man was strong, for sure. He had taken stronger hits, though.

The Rookie cocked back a fist and let loose, nailing the perpetrator in the chin. His head went flying back, connecting with the floor. The soldier took advantage of the man's daze to wrest his pistol free and press it against his temple.

"Who are you?" he growled.

"Mercenary," the man slurred.

"Why are you here?"

The mercenary regained his senses, however, and his eyes steeled defensively. He spat on the Rookie's visor. The gob of spit and blood immediately blocked most of his vision, and James flew back, hurriedly wiping the revolting liquid off his helmet. He finished just in time to see the merc lift his blaster. James growled and rolled away as fast as his body could allow him, avoiding the shot that followed. A smoking crater resided where he formerly lay.

James brought his pistol up, aimed down the sights, and put two bullets in the mercenary before he could do anything else.

The man dropped to the floor, two bloody holes in his skull.

The Rookie got up, quickly rummaging through the man's clothes. He found some thin papers he assumed were credits, loose scraps of food, and it seemed nothing else…until something at his waist caught his eye.

The blade was very shiny, and heavy, heavier than his high carbon steel knife. He ran his gloved fingers on the surface. It was brittle, but sharp. He flipped it over a few times, testing its maneuverability. Yes, it was very suited for him.

The Rookie replaced his knife, putting his old one on a short scabbard on his waist. He patted his prize gently. It would do him good in the following days, that he knew.

Sounds of conflict raged up ahead. He gripped his pistol and brought it up, running ahead to face the danger that had stolen its way into Massassi.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The princess' scream alerted everyone in the room.

She was clutched tightly under the unknown man's arm, pressed against his chest. A blaster was pointed against her temple. The man smiled amiably, a revolting caricature of happiness.

"Hey now!" he yelled above the furious din. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, everyone!" He wiggled the weapon for good measure.

Willard's face was a curious mixture of absolute fright and barely controlled anger. He pointed at the offender with a shaking finger. "You let go of her this instant!"

"Sorry, sir," he replied, the grin ever present. "No can do. Vader's orders. How about you guys clear a way for me out of this room before I blast a hole in the princess' skull?"

The people behind him hurriedly cleared a path to the exit. He smiled once more, all dimples and glee. Moving slowly, eyes surveying everyone in the room, he backed away. Everyone was too shocked, and afraid, to make a move. Leia squirmed under his grasp, but he held tight.

"See you folks later," the young man chuckled.

The door closed.

Willard immediately leapt into action. "Bisla, send all available units to the hangar! I want this man in a cell as soon as possible!"

"Yes, sir."

"Do not fire unless ordered, you hear me?"

"Of course, sir."

"Get moving!"

The lieutenant dashed out of the room.

Willard pulled five soldiers out of their rigid positions of shock, locking his fierce gaze on each of their faces. "Man up, men." he snarled. "We've got a princess to rescue."

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The Rookie carefully prodded the dead rebel on the ground. The corpse's eyes were blank and lifeless, mirrors reflecting the pure overhead lights. The blue and black uniform was almost burnt to a crisp, so was the skin underneath. James reached out and closed its eyes.

"Thermal detonator," a voice wheezed.

The ODST spun, seeing a wounded rebel lying against the wall, a spent blaster at his side. There were two bleeding punctures on his chest and side. James rushed to his side.

"Relax," he cautioned gently. "I'm going to get you out of here." He grimly realized that he would die very soon. "What happened here?"

"Too late to save me," the fatally injured soldier rasped sadly, followed by a series of violent coughing. Blood droplets hit the Rookie's shoulder. "Five of them passed by here not too long ago. The princess was with them, captured. Jabbens and I tried to stop them, but they were too good, too experienced. They got Jabbens quick, and one of them stuck me with a giant knife before I could burn anyone. Damn, they were fast…" He stared at the Rookie gravely. "Please…save…the princess…"

He died in James' arms.

The Rookie gently laid him on the ground, beside the other, Jabbens. _Rest easy, friend._ He immediately ran down the hall, SMG up and ready. He realized that the path was leading him to the hangar. He cursed inwardly. If only he had stayed there…

He stopped at the door, where another rebel lay dead on the ground. He slowly looked around the edge of the open doorway. The mercenaries were quickly herding themselves into a medium-sized transport, locked in a fierce firefight with rebel troops. James saw Willard in the midst of it, firing his pistol away with wild abandon. The Rookie made his way behind a loading crate, scoping out his first victims.

Suddenly, the ship's lights activated, and it began to rumble loudly. He sprang into action.

He sneaked behind the first mercenary, fiercely slamming the butt of his rifle on the back of his skull. The man, dressed in torn yellow like the other one, dropped like a rock. James quickly fired into the rest of the unsuspecting mercenaries, eleven in total. How they infiltrated the base unnoticed James would never know, but the mission at hand was his primary objective: Save the princess.

Already three enemies had been slain by the ODST's precise shots; however, they began to take notice. The Rookie dove into cover, red plasma trailing him like hail. Behind another crate, he popped open a fragmentation grenade and chucked it over the top. He was rewarded with a boom and several screams.

The ships' engine's flared, to the horror of the rebel troops. James cursed. He had to do something. The black cruiser, dark and imposing, was right in front of him now. His mind racing, he spotted the entrance ramp. Two mercenaries were guarding it while the others rapidly filed in. James instantly knew what to do.

He raced into the open, firing his SMG into the fleeing mercenaries. Two fell on the ramp, blood pooling on the silver metal. The others took notice, and lifted their guns. Red plasma streaked out from behind the Rookie, hitting the invaders relentlessly.

"Go on, man, we'll cover you!" Willard's voice rang out clear above the din.

The Rookie scampered up the ramp and entered the ship, which, to Willard's dismay, began to ascend.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

James reacted before the wide-eyed mercenary could even blink. He grabbed a hold of the man's head, one hand gripping his chin and the other the top, and twisted. The man's head spun with a sickening crack, and he fell limply in the Rookie's arms. James turned him around and hid behind him, sheltering himself from the bars of plasma aimed at him.

He threw the smoking body to the floor and fired back. Another mercenary fell, his padded armor no match for the bullets fired from the silenced rifle. The Rookie ran down the dark hall, searching for wherever the princess was held.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

"Sit yourself down, princess," the brown-haired man supplied casually. "We're in for a long ride."

"I will never obey a command from a worthless soldier-for-hire like you!" Leia practically spat, still twisting under the grip of two mercenaries. They were identical twins, bald and silent as mountains.

He turned his chair to face the princess. The cockpit's temperature seemed to drop fifty degrees as the man's cold gaze settled on Leia. "You've got a quick tongue for a dainty little beauty. How 'bout we fix that later on, princess?"

He fingered the combat knife resting on his chest strap. Leia nervously swallowed but held her gaze. She knew how to act in front of sadistic killers like him: show no fear, or else he will take advantage of that. She went as far as to let a confident smirk show on her face.

"You don't scare me, mercenary." Leia announced proudly. She hoped he couldn't see the beads of sweat on her forehead.

The man's gaze turned glacial. He leaned forward, a vein suddenly popping on his brow. A disturbing smile crept its way onto his handsome face. "My, my, princess. What a tongue. I should introduce myself to such accomplished royalty."

He stood up, his body tense but controlled. "The name's Toran Slivers and I am a bounty hunter, not a mercenary. These guys are, however, and they are not so polite and refined as I. You wouldn't want me to give the order for them to…ah…_indulge_ themselves, now do we?"

Leia's eyes widened. One of them holding her chuckled, his hand almost gently caressing her neck. She shivered in fright and revulsion. Toran smiled happily, right before violently slapping her on the face. She gasped, pain exploding on her cheek. The bounty hunter gripped her hair and pulled her close so that he could whisper in her ear.

"You shut your _farkly _mouth and maybe you can live, princess," he hissed, stretching the last honorific out with as much ridicule as possible. "Sit your ass down."

Leia went limp as a rag doll as the two men roughly pushed her onto the seat. Her heart beat like the festive drums back in Alderaan.

The ship rumbled, and soon, they were off. The pilot turned to Toran.

"We're off, sir. On to the Death Star?"

"No. We go to Coruscant. Set the damn coordinates and jump the moment we hit space."

"Yes, sir."

Toran grinned at the frozen princess.

"Excited, miss? Once we reach the capital, you're in for the worst nightmare of you entire-"

The door burst open, sending a bleeding corpse hurling into the room. It landed on Toran, who cursed and pushed it out of the way. Leia spun to face the door.

The black figure fired into the room. The pilot screamed, blood spurting from wounds on his neck. His lifeless body hit the control panel, sending the whole ship lurching downwards. The occupants of the cockpit were sent flying against the bulkhead. Toran wildly gestured at the two dazed mercenaries.

"Kill the sleamo!" he roared.

The duo of large men moved faster than the Rookie anticipated. The first, a bald brute with a squat face and stony eyes, landed a fist on his stomach. James doubled over, the wind momentarily knocked out of him. The second, identical to the first, launched a lightning fast kick at the stunned ODST. He went flying back.

The ship lurched again as Toran tried to regain control, and the Rookie paused mid-air and fell the opposite direction, landing on the first twin. Both grunted as they collided against the back of the control chair. James saw his opponent lurch in a state of pain, and he struck.

His two fingers hit the big man's trachea like a dagger. The mercenary's eyes bulged. He clutched at his throat wildly, squawking like a gutted fowl. The transport steadied itself, and they both fell to the floor. The Rookie immediately sprang to his feet, leaving the bald man in his death throes.

His twin's face turned an ugly shade of red. He let loose a tremendous roar and tackled the out-of-breath ODST. James struggled as the fuming man threw punch after punch on his weary body. He was beginning to lose consciousness when his hand, almost by itself, gripped the shining knife at his waist. Gritting his teeth, he withdrew the weapon and lunged.

The remaining twin froze, an expression of supreme rage still locked onto his blocky face. His jaw slacked, his eyes rolled over, and he fell atop the Rookie. James gathered his hands under the dead twin pushed him off. He was gasping for breath when he spotted the remaining enemy, the brown-haired man, holding the princess against him, a blaster at her waist.

"Move another inch and I put plasma into her little body," he snarled.

James felt a horrible sensation of failure settle onto his gut. He was too late. He lifted his arms in surrender, hoping at least to ensure Leia's safety. _If this Rebellion was too live on_, he figured grimly, _might as well keep her alive. Even if I…_

He saw the look on her face, and hope surged in his chest.

"No one fools Toran," the young man snarled. "No one has, no one will. Especially not some black-suited bantha fodder!"

Leia fist went crashing between Toran's legs. The bounty hunter grimaced in extreme agony, and he fell to his knees. Leia tore from his loosened grip, running towards the Rookie. She moved behind him, staring at the downed hunter anxiously, proud at what she had done but unsure of whether it was for the good of them both.

Toran's face snapped up, and he stared at the two with undisguised hatred. He came to his feet, crouched over like a beast ready to strike.

"You're going to _get_ it, princess!" he growled, spittle flying from his mouth. He unleashed a huge blade, half an inch tall and gleaming dangerously. He slowly waved it in front of them, his sneering smile caught in its reflection.

"I'll cut you up!" Toran roared.

The bounty hunter launched himself towards the Rookie, faster than even the bulky twins. James slashed his own knife, deflecting Toran's lunge. Sparks flew as the two blades met. Toran snarled and kicked the ODST in the solar plexus, knocking him back a few steps. The hunter leapt in the air like a bullfrog, knife gleaming. The Rookie reached for his sidearm, but Toran knocked it aside with a sweep of his arm. James flinched, an oozing cut on the back of his gloved hand.

They squared off, eyes locked. Leia silently moved back a few paces. This was a warrior's fight, and she had no part in it. Toran grinned his nasty grin again, devoid of any joy or happiness. Only plain, uninhibited malevolence.

"Make your move, stranger." he mocked. "No one's beaten Toran in a knife fight yet, not even Bo-"

James struck. Toran leaned back, the knife centimeters from his exposed throat. His lip curled in contempt as his eyes inspected the knife in the milliseconds it nearly decapitated him. His foot lashed out, catching the ODST in the chin. James stumbled back, stars exploding behind his eyes.

"That's Finnick's cortosis knife, isn't it?" he said, grudgingly impressed. "You killed him?"

The Rookie said nothing, only brandishing his blade in preparation. Toran nearly exploded in fury at the man's silence, but he reigned it in. The hunter smiled yet again.

"Like I said, he doesn't talk much." Toran spun his knife in the air and caught it. "How 'bout we make that permanent?"

He lunged. James was ready this time. He slashed downwards, redirecting his opponent's stab to the floor. The ODST followed with an elbow jab to the top of the killer's skull.

Toran cried out in pain as the Rookie's elbow smashed onto his head. Before he could retaliate, James twisted his hand in Toran's hair and slammed the hunter's face against his knee. Toran squealed pitifully, squirming out of the Rookie's grasp to crouch against the wall, clutching his ruined face in his palm.

Toran glared blazing hot plasma at the Rookie from behind his hand. Blood welled from his demolished nose and out of his palms. He quivered in barely controlled rage.

He finally stood, shaking like a volcano. His veins bulged from his forehead to his forearms, blue and green worms slithering under dark skin. Toran spat a mixture of saliva and blood at James' feet.

"Don't…think…I'm…done…_yet_," he gritted, each word dripping with venom. "COME HERE YOU KARKIN' BASTARD!"

Toran surged forward, gracefulness and calm thrown aside. His intention was pure: rip into the Rookie until there was nothing left but a sack of torn flesh, cloth, and bone. His eyes blazed with terrible malice as the knife went up once again, mirroring his horrible face.

James calmly lifted his pistol and shot the bounty hunter in the forehead.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

**The following day…**

The Rookie lay on his carefully folded bed, listening to the cheers coming from the award ceremony not too far from his room. It was curious to him. How these people, even in times of war, could find time to have fun, and revel in joy and celebration after a victory? Were they not an insurrection against a vast intergalactic Empire?

Victories were always costly back during the Human-Covenant War. Celebration was cast aside for preparation; the Covenant never backed down after a defeat. Time for fun and partying seemed like a distant memory for the veteran. Of course, award ceremonies were common, but always met with grim realization. They were honoring soldiers who had fought and stayed alive in the greatest hell imaginable, who had witnessed soldiers and civilians alike get burnt to charred bits by a relentless alien juggernaut bent on humanity's extinction…fun was a memory. The soldiers here were so different, so different from the silent Marines accustomed to death and massacre. How, in these times, could they find time to lay back and enjoy life?

James scoffed and shook his head. He was just being a cynic, like he always was. He replayed a vague memory of his brother taunting him for being such a "party-pooper". A 21st- century term, he had informed him. James cracked an unseen smile. His brother…

There was a pleasant beep. "Hey, James, it's me, Han. Can I come in?"

The Rookie hadn't realized the ceremony was done so fast. He hastily put on his helmet and punched the door controls. Han walked in like he owned the place, all smiles on his rugged face.

"Can you believe it?" he exclaimed, his face flushed with joy. "I got a medal. A _medal_. I didn't even fight for the whole scrap; I just popped in at the last minute!"

"Congratulations," the ODST offered, nodding to him in approval.

"Wait! That's not it! I got 20,000 Alliance Credits as a bonus! HA! Wait till Jabba get's a load of this!"

"You deserved it. I heard it was a close one."

Han smiled, stuffing his hands in his trademark black pants. "You bet it was. The whole thing would've gone up in flames if Luke hadn't pulled off his mumbo jumbo deal with the exhaust port. Man, you should've been there. The thing really _blew up_."

James shrugged. "I don't think I would've been much use in a fighter. I was satisfied with where I was."

Han's face slackened a bit. "Oh, yeah. I heard about that whole mercenary deal. Was it really Toran Slivers?"

"I believe so."

Han shook his head. "The guy was a total sicko. I mean _really_ messed up. Top-notch bounty hunter, up there with Fett and the rest. Cold killer, though, but he enjoyed it. He did his father in for a few credits a few years back. I'm glad you wiped the bastard."

He shrugged. "I did my duty."

Han tilted his head, his long hair shifting down. "You're so stiff all the time. Loosen up, man, it's a party out there!"

The ODST felt his shoulders twitch, but he resisted the gesture. "I'm not the partying type."

Han chuckled. "Of course you aren't." He stared at the Rookie for a long while. James felt very uncomfortable underneath his gaze, and he shifted awkwardly.

"What is it?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," Han said. He laughed. "I honestly don't know. You're unlike anyone I've ever met before, you know. I mean, you're obviously the military type, but you're nothing like the pompous chumps who call themselves soldiers. You're so much more quiet, refined, humble…say, where are you from again?"

James was silent.

"Somewhere really far away, so far away that I don't think it matters anymore," he almost whispered. "I'm beginning to think I can't get back."

Han understood his partner's sadness. He clapped the ODST's shoulder encouragingly. "Hey, don't say that. There's always a way home. You got here, so there must be a way back, right?"

Logically, he was right. The Rookie remembered the giant Forerunner structure and the vast Control Room. He remembered the blue light and the AI rising before him. If the Forerunner's made a way into this galaxy, there should be an opposite path leading back home. Who knows, with all this new technology in this part of the universe, he could possibly find a way to the Milky Way.

"Maybe."

Han grinned. "I'm beginning to think that all I'll be getting from you over the next few years are short phrases and monosyllabic responses."

James turned to face him. "Next few years?"

Han furrowed his brow, as if there wasn't any other alternative. "Of course. Where else are you thinking of going? You're not going to stay here with these guys, are you?"

Honestly, the Rookie had no idea where he was going to go. During the chaos of the past few days (it was all a blur), he didn't have much time to contemplate his future actions in this strange new galaxy. Han waited patiently for an answer.

Should he stay here with this outgunned, outclassed, and outnumbered Rebellion? Or should he travel with Han and Chewbacca across the galaxy, probably getting into all sorts of trouble with crime lords and bounty hunters like Toran Slivers. Either way, it wasn't going to be easy.

Han folded his arms across his chest. "Well? What's it going to be?"

James looked at him. He held out his arm. "I'm up for it, but promise me one thing."

Han practically grinned from ear to ear, and he vigorously shook the Rookie's hand. "Anything."

"Teach me how to survive. I came here knowing nothing about this place and barely came out alive. I need to know how to stay alive and hold my own against the likes of Toran Slivers and…" He remembered the black figure, Vader, in the Death Star. Just thinking about him sent shivers down his spine. He thought against telling Han. "…others. I'm an ODST to the core, but there's no UNSC to serve. Admittedly, I'm on my own here."

Han nodded slowly, silently rubbing his chin. "I'll try my best. There's a lot to learn, though."

James shrugged. "I'm a fast learner."

Han cracked a grin. "I'll bet you are." He rubbed his hands excitedly. "Well, we're not going to start here, that's for sure. Pack your things."

"Yes, sir."

Han stopped, a frown on his face for the first time. "Lesson one: I'll be having none of that. I ain't your superior, James. We're a team."

_Team. Huh._

"Get moving, we've got places to go."

He moved for the door and almost crashed into a very surprised Luke and Leia.

"Well, if it isn't the princess and Golden Boy himself," he greeted warmly. "The rush over yet?"

"Hardly," Luke replied. "I'm still a little woozy." The young man turned to the Rookie, who was busily packing new clothes and materials into a bag. "James! You weren't at the ceremony!"

"He's not the fun type," Han offered.

Leia glared at the smuggler. "He's just not into festivities as all of us are. Dare I say it, it comes as a relief. I won't have to deal with anymore drunk lunatics," she stared at Solo, "while he's around."

Han chuckled and looped an arm around the Rookie's shoulders. "Sorry to tell you this, princess, but he's coming with me."

Luke and Leia snapped their heads at the ODST. "What!" they both exclaimed.

James shrugged (he realized why this was so annoying to them). "I need a teacher. As I said before, I'm not from around here."

"Well, you can stay with us!" Leia answered, clearly displeased with the notion of such a fine soldier staying with the likes of Han Solo and Chewbacca. "I don't see why you have to go traipsing around the galaxy getting poisoned by the likes of those two!"

"Hey now, princess, we're not that bad." Han disagreed pointedly. "He'll learn a lot more from us than from you and Willard that's for sure."

They erupted into a fierce argument. James scratched the back of his head. _Well, looks like shit really hit the fan_.

"You know what?" Luke said suddenly, surprising Han and Leia into silence. He was looking at James with a very weird expression. "I think he should go with Han."

"Thank you, Luke!" Han yelled, smiling. "I knew you'd see things my way."

Leia bit her lip and settled a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Luke, I don't think-"

"Call it a new learning experience," Luke interjected. He was still looking at him with the same expression. "A way to…find things out. Good luck, James."

His blue eyes twinkled, and James was reminded of an old man just a few days back with the same kind eyes…

He nodded and shook Luke's hand. "Likewise."

Han clapped his hands together. "Well, let's get going, shall we? We've got a galaxy to explore!"

**AN: Yes, yes, cheesy ending, I know. It was midnight, and my dad was getting pissed. So, yeah…Chapter 4, people! I hope you enjoyed, and excuse mistakes, there's bound to be some! Please R&R!**

**P.S: Thanks for the tips, guys! I was debating whether it was "auxiliary" or "artillery", so I trusted my bad hearing and look where it got me! Also, I know its rushed, but I kind of condensed the first episode, so I could get to the juicy parts! Expect more mayhem with Han, Chewbacca, and the latest addition, the Rookie!**


	5. The Maw

**A/N: Sorry for the LONG wait. This fic wasn't really doing it for me until some of you guys expressed your feelings on the reviews page. So, I hunkered down and started writing, and this mess was the result. Hope you enjoy. (Also, I realized a mistake in my previous chapter. I usually don't address typos, but this one was ridiculous. Toran's knife is supposed to be half a foot tall, not an inch. 'Because that would be stupid.)**

* * *

><p>Jabba of Tatooine was not a happy Hutt.<p>

What had amounted to be one of the biggest illegal arms cache on the planet – no, the _system_ – had become a smoking pile of ash and debris in the span of two hours. That was thousands of blasters, blaster rifles, grenades, shoulder-mounted plasma cannons, AA guns, even ballistic weaponry reduced to lumps of charred metal. Hundreds of security personnel dead or wounded, virtually worthless. A substantial percentage of eager if not shadowy Imperial clients suddenly cutting off all communications to the Hutt's lucrative trade.

All because of some well-placed crust mines and the most infuriating individual Jabba ever had the displeasure of letting run free.

"He came after the explosions ripped the base apart," Vollo Ju'kar whined. His once illustrious magenta hair was singed and sooty, and the bright clothes he'd purchased as a perk of being one of Jabba's trusted lieutenants black with ash. "Picked my men off one by one. He broke into my office and stole it. There was…there was nothing I could do, sir."

Jabba said nothing after this pathetic display of ineptitude. Vollo's eyes were wet with fear and despair. His thin body trembled under the grip of Jabba's Gamorrean guards. The Hutt's black eyes stared down at the former smuggler with little emotion.

"I do not blame you, Vollo," he finally said in his native Hutteese. "This new morsel of mine lacks the scruple that so contains his…associates. There was nothing you could do."

Vollo's young face brightened, sensing a spark of hope. "I'll do everything I can to take the sleamo down, sir, mark my words. Han's a dead beat, and that new guy will wish –"

"Han Solo is every bit the smuggler you were and much, much more, dear Ju'kar. And the other is less…hasty. No. I will be merciful and allow you to continue this habit of yours. You will do nothing."

Vollo frowned. "Sir…?"

Jabba nodded, his voluminous body shaking at the tiny movement. A Gamorrean stepped out from the shadows behind Vollo and lifted his great axe. He brought it down with a pig-like grunt.

Jabba stared into the open, dead eyes of Vollo Ju'kar.

It was that particular moment that the Hutt lived for. The moment between life and death, the window to the inner being that opened and let all the universe to see inside. The uncertainties, the fear, the hate, even the futile hope that claimed the unaware. Ones like Vollo, who'd never even known that they were dead. The Hutt pictured Han Solo kneeling before him, seeing the light going out of those furious dark eyes, the smoldering rebellion gone in an instant. Jabba relished in the daydream, but he soon cast it aside. A very different fate awaited his dear smuggler, a fate worse than any death. His trickery had cost Jabba far too much over the years, and his recent actions were simply unforgivable. Death was too much of a mercy for Han and his team.

The wookie was a detail, nothing more. He'd be sold back into slavery, or to the fighting pits to rake in some extra credits and perhaps allow Jabba a little more profit from Solo's demise. He was a strong one, but strength fails all eventually.

The other, however…

The man in black had been a mere wild card before he'd cast lots with Han Solo and Chewbacca. An interesting individual, even a potential candidate for Jabba's security detail. But people were talking; as they were opt to on the streets of Mos Eisley. And tales were being told of this soldier, this _Rookie_, infiltrating the Empire's greatest weapon and coming out alive. Of joining the Galactic Rebellion and killing the notorious bounty hunter and assassin Toran Slivers.

And of partnering with the infamous smuggler, Jabba's occasional ally, sometimes enemy, and eternal thorn.

Wild card, indeed.

The rats were whispering outside the Hutt's walls, and he did not like it. Not one bit. The mob boss's power had been unrivaled for decades, Tatooine his private desert paradise and fortress. He had the local Imperial magistrates in one hand and every money-making industry in the other.

In this town, someone like that was a god.

But even gods can die, as displayed by Jabba's numerous predecessors. And the people were always so eager to elect a hero, a brazen figure that would dare challenge Jabba's authority. Every now and again they'd rise, the people's voice and saint supreme. They'd mock the Empire, mock Jabba, and swear to be the mantle of popular justice. And every time Jabba would stamp them out like so many insects. He'd lock them in chains, torture them, whip them, and subject them to every agony imaginable until they would beg for him to end it. Such grand, illustrious figures, many times tall and beautiful and strong, crouching and whimpering like a mangy cur, bleeding from countless wounds and weeping until the tears could run no more. _End it, my lord. Kill me, please! Kill me!_

Then and only then would Jabba take the broken thing out to the city center, parade him like the small people had just days before, and take off his head. But he wouldn't stop there. After that, he'd hang their dirty heads on one of his guard's spears and place them atop his walls for all eyes to see. A savage method, but effective.

Such was the price when you spat on a god.

And no being could flee his judgment.

"There will be no mercy for the upstart," Jabba announced. His court had grown silent in the midst of Vollo's execution. The band's instruments drooped in their hands, the revelers silent. His dancers, beautiful and exotic, lay trembling on the floor, chained at his tail. All eyes shifted from the corpse to the Hutt. "Five million credits to the one who brings me the fool's head. Seven million to the one who brings him to me alive. I'll double the current bounties for Solo and the wookie. I give you my blessing."

Among the throng of silent party-goers a few figures disentangled themselves from obscurity. They nodded to Jabba and quietly left his court. A man, his face wrapped in white bandages, shouldered a wicked gun and strolled out the door. A spindly droid, red eyes gazing with mechanical menace, started up a flight of stairs. A Trandoshan, towering and ferocious and armed to the fangs, snarled his glee and slithered away. A medium-built man in tarnished, green armor mockingly saluted Jabba and followed the bandaged one out the exit. More left, but Jabba knew them all by name, reputation, and kill count. Each would suffice.

_There will be no escape for you._

_ Rookie…_

**STRANGE NEW WORLD**

The Maw

The Rookie was enjoying the peaceful silence of the night when Han Solo was thrown out of the whorehouse.

The bulky alien with three eyes, each one filled with a bitter rage, was framed against the warm light coming out of the building. The purple skin of his face was plump and flushed with indignation. "And stay out, Solo!" he cried.

The alien stormed back inside, and the metal doors slammed closed with a whoosh and a clang. Han Solo lay still on the sidewalk, muttering vague curses. The Rookie wrinkled his nose behind his faceplate. His transporter reeked of alcohol, or at least this galaxy's equivalent. He placed the holo-pad he was perusing (the development of plasma weaponry by their ancient civilizations was astonishing and would prove to be useful for the UNSC if he ever made it back home) back into the case clipped onto his utility belt and approached the downed man with the caution one carries when approaching a confused skunk.

"Rookie," the smuggler grunted, his voice muffled against the cold duracrete. "Get my gun."

The Rookie stopped and folded his arms. "You left it in there, sir."

Han groaned and got up to his knees. His brown hair was all over the place, his clothes wrinkled, and the smell intensified. His eyes were red and bleary. "What did I tell you about calling me that? I'm your friend, not your karking CO."

Han Solo was too trusting of a man to call the Rookie his friend. Close allies, perhaps, but friends? The ODST was unfamiliar with the concept, having been so engrossed in a war where friends died by the countless millions every day. In an earlier time, maybe, when the war with the Covenant wasn't even a possibility, and all the Rookie cared about was what he was going to get for his next birthday.

No. Not friends.

The Rookie was curious as to why Solo had given him the title when he was one of the most paranoid men he'd ever met. Solo would trust a stranger farther than he could throw him, and judging by the exotic company the smuggler kept, that wasn't too far. Han's only friend was a huge, terrible beast that could rip a man in two easier than a child would tear a piece of cardboard paper.

Speaking of…

"Where's the wookie?" the soldier grunted.

Han grimaced as he got to his feet. He stumbled a bit, but caught himself before he could fall again. He pointed a wandering finger back at the building. "Chewbacca's in the bathroom," he slurred. "He won't be happy when he finds out…"

Almost immediately an almighty roar sounded from inside the whorehouse. The Rookie marveled at how the signpost welded onto the front wall shook at its magnitude. Sounds of a struggle ensued, and someone, one of the whores most likely, screamed as something hit the wall with a great thud. Someone else let out a battle cry in a foreign tongue only to be silenced by another roar and an ear-splitting crack. The battle cry transformed into a whimper.

The door opened, and Chewbacca stalked out, adjusting the bowcaster on his broad, furry back. Han and the Rookie stared as the wookie grunted and tossed the smuggler a golden ring with a crimson jewel fixed at the center.

"Gee, thanks," Han deadpanned. "It's real pretty, but next time…" Han pulled a face as he extricated the bloody, purple finger still attached to the ring. "Constrain your enthusiasm, eh Chewie?"

Chewbacca warbled, smashing both of his fists against his huge chest. Han sighed and put the ring on his finger, apparently not minding the bright green blood that stained it. "Okay, okay. Thank you, Chewie."

The wookie grunted again, satisfied. He pulled out a small blaster from his belt and handed it to Han. Han nodded and grasped it tight. It took him three tries, but he eventually got it. He put it in his holster and made a grandiose gesture to the right. "To the _Millennium Falcon_!"

Han stumbled onto the street, and he began to sing a Corellian tavern song about a roguish smuggler and the numerous girls he'd deflowered. The Rookie had heard him sing it before, and it wasn't exactly his favorite. The ending involved the womanizer drowning in all the blood he'd let flow from his not-so-virtuous escapades. The ODST was grateful that the city they were in was not like Coruscant, where the crowd was constant, day and night. At the moment, the street was dark and silent, much like the cities back home.

The Rookie glanced at the purple finger Han had discarded earlier.

Similar, but not the same.

The Rookie suppressed a heavy sigh and followed Han down the street. The port was not too far off, as was common in areas like this, different galaxy regardless. There had always been seedy brothels located near a port, where weary sailors could indulge themselves after a long time at sea. Or space. Either way, the libido of a tired but virile male could not be quenched. The Rookie caught up to Han just as he was about to skip right into a parked speeder.

"Why were you kicked out?" he asked, feeling the urge to say "sir" but pushing it down.

Han scoffed. "I was having my way with a feisty little minx when Dargut barged into the room, spouting something about bounties, Jabba, and 'defilement of precious goods'." He pouted childishly. "I didn't even get a refund."

Chewbacca warbled again and shook his head in disappointment.

The ODST ignored their antics and pressed on. "What did he mean by 'Jabba' and 'bounties'?" He had a good idea of what "defilement of precious goods" meant. He was a born grunt, but not an idiot.

Han shrugged. "Jabba's got people he wants to see gone, and I'm one of them. I wouldn't care too much, Jabba hates my guts but he needs me. I do the jobs most of the cowards he calls employees can't get done in a trillion lifetimes. The bounties are for show."

"And if he's serious this time?"

Han dissolved into a fit of giggles. The Rookie had begun to wonder if he was poisoned in the brothel when he stopped to catch a breath. "Right," he gasped between his laughter. "If he's serious. That's classic."

The Rookie arched an eyebrow inside his helmet. "We blew up his arsenal in Tatooine last week. I'd say that's serious. Enough to warrant an active bounty."

Han and Chewbacca stopped walking at the same time, an almost instinctive action that the Rookie guessed occurred at a moment of defensiveness. Han's tone grew surprisingly sober. "That was different," he murmured. "That wasn't really us."

The Rookie tilted his head. "I remember us placing the charges. I remember us storming the offices and stealing the hard drive that held half of Jabba's Imperial contacts in that sector."

Chewbacca let out a warning growl. Han made wild gesticulations and rushed the Rookie. "Quiet!" he hissed, right in front of his faceplate. "This is Imperial territory, you dimwit! Eyes and ears everywhere. The moment they catch word that we helped out the Rebellion, we're goners."

The Rookie listened to the almost pastoral silence that followed the smuggler's outburst. He had an impulse to react with a sarcastic comment, but he wisely kept silent. Instead, he crossed his arms and planted his feet. "Either way, we shouldn't take this lightly. If Jabba wants us gone, then we better be a lot more careful."

Han's eyes burned with a curious fire as he stared at the Rookie. One of them twitched sporadically. "If he wants _me_ gone, you mean. Chewie's had a price on his head ever since I freed him, and you're a nobody. I've danced this dance before, Rookie, and I've always come out on top. Stick with me, follow my lead, and don't ask too many questions."

The Rookie processed this. "Yes," he finally said. "Sir."

Han's right eye erupted in twitches, but he just whirled and stalked away. Chewbacca growled deep in his chest, spat on the Rookie's feet, and followed his friend down the road. It was a familiar action, and instead of resenting it, the trooper had taken to using the liquid to shine his boots. Shockingly enough, wookie saliva was extremely dirt cleansing, much more so than humans.

When they made it to the spaceport, Han ended his frosty silence by talking to the official in charge of customs. The obviously sleep-deprived man crankily waved them on, too tired to cast a single glance at the forged IDs the trio carried. The Rookie had at first denied to use such illegal methods, but at the urging of Solo, he'd reluctantly agreed. It helped that they had a gaggle of irritated storm troopers right on their tail when it happened.

The _Millenium Falcon _awaited them at the designated bay. She was a humongous hunk of custom-arranged parts and illegal upgrades, but still a magnificent sight to behold. She was Han and Chewbacca's pride and joy, and the Rookie's sole ride in this vast, strange, and unfamiliar place that he'd been thrown into.

Han strolled up the entrance ramp, slurring out the last words to the ditty he'd been singing before the Rookie had interrupted. Chewbacca roared the words alongside him, and together they made a sound that would make a deaf man's ears bleed from the discordance. The Rookie grimaced, and he was about to follow them into the _Falcon_ when a pricking sensation on the back of his neck caused him to turn around.

The balcony halls surrounding the circular landing bay were quiet and cloaked in darkness. The door they'd just walked in through was open, but not a thing stirred outside. The Rookie fingered the butt of his new blaster. He was new to the technology, the kick a lot stronger than he'd expected, but he was precise enough. If a shooter popped up on the balcony, he'd take him out between the eyes.

But there was only the quiet whirring of mechanics and the fading voices of his allies disappearing into their ship.

The Rookie took one more look around him and stepped towards the ship.

There was a yell, and someone opened fire inside the _Falcon_.

The Rookie was inside in a second, his blaster up. Chewbacca was leaning against the bulkhead next to the cockpit door, clutching at his shoulder. Smoke rose from between his shaggy fingers, and his breathing was heavy. Han was pinning a short man in a technician's uniform to the ground, his own blaster pressed against the stranger's forehead. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes were hot and furious.

"Who are you!?" Han roared. "Why did you try to kill us!?"

The short man, his brown hair stringy and greasy, spat right in Han's eyes. "Jabba the Hutt sends his regards."

There was a second of silence, charged with tension and confusion. A device beeped on his waist, and the _Millenium Falcon_ groaned and trembled as heavy blaster fire suddenly rained down upon her. Chewbacca warbled in dismay, and the Rookie had to grab onto the wookie to keep balance. The beast shook him off with a growl.

Han let loose a string of unintelligible curses and shot the man in the head. The stranger's skull bounced off the deck and stared sightlessly at his murderer. The smuggler got up, his form dark and still as red warning lights flashed on and off inside the _Falcon_. "Karking sleamos," he snarled.

He rushed into the cockpit, the Rookie close behind. Han was all over the controls, flipping switches here and there, but his treasure responded with weak wheezes as the barrage continued mercilessly. Han roared and slammed both fists against the consoles. "Engines are offline!" he screamed. His eyes were alight with fear, panic, and intense anger. "The warp drive's down, too. We aren't getting out of here."

The _Falcon _quaked again, and Han's head drooped.

The Rookie shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "Weapons, sir," he said as calmly as he could. It felt as if the ship would come apart any second now, but it was moments like this that the ODST trained and bled for. And he'd be damned if a couple of bounty hunter scum would seal his fate. He preferred the inept Covenant Grunts to this greedy, undisciplined rabble.

Han straightened, a spark of hope warming his pale face. He furiously tapped on the screen, scrolling through the systems check. He whooped and fist pumped. "Idiots," he cried. "You go for my baby you make sure you take out the big guns!"

Han flipped a few more switches and pressed continuously on a blue button. "Weapons activated!" he yelled. "Chewie! Get on the turret!"

Chewbacca warbled back, his voice distant. Han turned to the Rookie. "Get on the second turret. Take those bastards out."

The soldier nodded and did as he was told.

When he got there, he slid himself into the gunner's seat and took control. He willed the turret under his command, guiding it to where he wanted to aim. The machine whirred and groaned as it moved, infuriatingly slow. Up on the balconies, he spied shadowy figures firing down at the ship with relentless abandon, stopping only to reload. A large one, some sort of alien with four arms, was controlling a rapid-fire gun that looked almost as big as the Rookie's torso.

Well then. Target #1.

The Rookie guided the cannon until the alien was dead center on his domed observation glass. The alien stopped firing, caught in a moment of genuine shock.

The Rookie pressed the trigger.

There was a flash of red, and just like that the alien and his monster of a gun were gone, replaced by a steaming, jagged hole and burnt debris. Before the Rookie could celebrate his kill, the other gunners realized their previous mistake and concentrated their fire on the Rookie's position. The window in front of him pinged and wobbled slightly as the plasma bounced off of it like pin balls. It was an impressive display of the _Falcon's_ shields, but the ship was damaged, and it was only a matter of time before everything fell apart. Gritting his teeth, the Rookie fired again into the shadows. Three shooters, their bodies black and charred, screamed and fell down to the bay floor. There was a crash and a rumble as Chewbacca began to open fire on the other side. The barrage decreased, but the danger of an explosion remained.

The Rookie was able to get one more shot when he sensed someone trying to be discreet behind his back. In a second of dread, he realized that no one had closed the entrance to the _Millenium Falcon_.

The Rookie unstrapped himself from the seat and jumped away just in time. A serrated knife punched into the leather of the seat where his neck had been resting against. A man with baggy eyes and five o'clock shadow cursed as he tried to wrest the weapon from its lodging. The Rookie calmly unsheathed the knife he'd won from the barbaric assassin he'd slew and slashed. His would-be killer fell to the deck, eyes open and neck gushing freely. He stepped over the twitching corpse and lifted his small blaster, aching for a Battle Rifle or Silenced SMG. Heck, even a SPNKR. Anything to get the job done. Two men in stolen technician uniforms rounded the corner, their blasters as small as the Rookie's.

The trooper took aim and shot both in the forehead before they could move their arms.

"Everything okay back there?" Han Solo called from the cockpit. The _Falcon_ rumbled as Chewbacca fired into the ranks of their attackers. "Rookie?"

"Hostiles have entered the _Falcon_, sir."

"Damn it! We've got to get out of here. As long as we're inside, we're toast."

The Rookie glanced at the cockpit door. "But the _Falcon_, sir…?"

"It's too valuable to be destroyed. If Jabba really wants me dead, I bet my baby's the first thing he's going to nab once I'm gone. He knows how fast she is."

The Rookie nodded. "What's the plan, sir?"

Han Solo walked out of the cockpit dressed for battle. He had a combat chest plate strapped over his trademark black vest and white shirt, extra magazines clipped onto the sides. He still had his favorite blaster at his hip, but he walked out carrying a large, menacing rifle that looked highly dangerous and somewhat illegal.

"Repeating Carbine, outfitted with laser tracings, a grenade launcher, and a use-once EMP charge." Solo had the zest to wink despite the situation. "You won't tell anyone, won't you?"

The Rookie shook his head.

"Atta boy. I'll make a smuggler out of you yet. Chewie!" he called. "Get off the turret! I think you've scared them off."

Chewbacca's answering warble was surprisingly reassuring to the ODST. All of them were alive, and an all-out assault by numerous bounty hunters hadn't been enough to take them out. They stopped at the exit, where Chewbacca downed a plucky bounty hunter who'd been crawling up the ramp. The fiery green bolt had sent him flying back a couple of yards. Chewbacca roared his battle cry.

"Here's what we're going to do," Han whispered as the lull of plasma fire mystifyingly receded. "I'm going to make for that pillar while you give me cover fire. Then, you make it to my position while I return the favor. Got it?"

The Rookie raised his hand. "Permission to speak, sir?"

Han rolled his eyes. "Permission granted."

"I volunteer to make for and maintain the position while you two wait here. You'll be safer inside then I'll be outside. Like you said, the _Falcon's_ too valuable to destroy."

Han ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Fine. Do what you feel like doing. Just make sure you lay down some covering fire while we make it towards you, okay?"

The Rookie nodded. "Affirmative."

Han narrowed his eyes at the Rookie before shaking his head. Chewbacca quit his warbles, bowcaster at his waist. Han locked eyes with the soldier, although the faceplate obscured his face. An expression of curiosity overtook his tan features. "This might be the last time I see you alive." he said softly. "Care to take off that damn helmet of yours?"

The Rookie stiffened. He was silent before answering. "You're free to do as you like with me when I'm dead, sir."

Han scowled, looking a little amused. "Whoa there, tiger. It ain't like that." He turned serious. "Are you ready?"

"Han Solo!" a voice called from beyond their line of sight. It was coming from the balconies, and it was male and nasally. "I'll give you one chance to surrender your arms and your team. Jabba has given me his express command to take you back unharmed. He is known to be merciful to the prudent."

Han snorted. "Right. He'd be so merciful we'd end up just like that old politician that tried to take him down a few years back. Free range on the palace walls, if I'm not wrong. I hear it's got a lovely view."

The nasally voice turned hard. "Such is the punishment for the foolish, Mr. Solo. I advise that you obey my command and _surrender_."

"Here's what I think of your commands." Han spat on the metal floor outside his ship. "Go tell your mother I said thanks for a good night."

"So be it!" the stranger's voice cracked a little. "Your insults mean nothing to me! We shall take you to Jabba, dead or alive!"

Han Solo motioned frantically. "Go, go, go!"

The Rookie ran.

For a moment he was running free, hearing nothing but his breath and the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. His armor felt weightless, and for a brief second he wondered if this was how Spartans, the UNSC's legendary warriors, felt when they were in the heat of battle.

Then, the hunters recovered and resumed fire.

The bay became a hellish circus of fire and light.

Their aim was dangerously accurate, but the Rookie was already near the pillar when they fired. He slid the rest of the way, a blue plasma bolt striking the floor close to his head. The echo of the bolt against the metal resounded in his helmet like a gong. He sprang up to a crouch behind the pillar, feeling the metal tremble as the hunters continued firing. There was a scream and a thud not too far from his position. Solo or Chewbacca must have taken out one of them while he ran.

The Rookie poked a hand from behind cover and gave the all-clear.

Then, he turned and opened fire at the first hunter he saw.

The red plasma moved at the speed of light and struck the stocky figure (he couldn't see if it was man or alien) right beneath the chin. The hunter did a little dance and stumbled off the edge, arms flailing as he fell. The Rookie fired at another, but the shot was off by a mile. The Rookie almost cursed, shaking the blaster experimentally.

Han and Chewie were pounding the ground, randomly shooting upwards. Han's eyes were wide as hover discs. "WHY. ARE. YOU. NOT. FIRING!"

The Rookie grunted and took aim.

He was so focused on taking out the target he'd missed earlier that he didn't notice the lance of green energy until it got him clean on the shoulder.

Pain unlike anything the Rookie had felt in a long time burned to the left of his collarbone. It spread like wildfire through his arm, turning his world into a hell-scape of blurry crimson. He was briefly reminded of a time when he was younger, a lot more inexperienced, and unaware of the danger that he faced. New Jerusalem seemed a lifetime ago, but the wounds he sustained as a result of his foolishness would remain with him until the end of his days. Now, the cold burn of concentrated plasma claimed his agony once more.

But if the Rookie had learned anything from the hell of New Jerusalem, it was how to deal with pain. He sealed the hurt in his head, putting it in a black box and banishing it to the darker recesses of his mind. He turned what was left into pure determination, and the small percentage that he could not contain became animal emotion: revenge, anger, a thirst for blood. The Rookie got up to his knees, took a deep breath, and stood, still behind the pillar.

Han and Chewbacca had made it, and the smuggler was bending very close to the Rookie's faceplate. His dark eyes were full of genuine concern. "Hey, Rookie! You okay? You got hit pretty bad back there."

The Rookie gently shook him off. "I'm fine. What's the next step?"

Apparently he couldn't keep his teeth from clenching from the pain, because Solo was staring skeptically at him. The wookie growled from where he stood, shaking him from his stupor. Han frowned. "The next step? Well, we get out of here, of course. I'd say we took out half of their men, and they're probably regrouping by the exit."

"Which means we have to beat them there," the ODST finished.

Chewbacca grunted in assent.

Solo nodded. "You up for a run, kid?"

The Rookie tested his shoulder with a shrug. Sharp pain speared through him, and the acrid stench of burned flesh wafted nauseatingly through his helmet vents. The Rookie waved his free hand. "I'm ready."

"Good," Han backpedaled furiously, eyes still on the Rookie. "Because we're going _now_!"

Chewbacca took the lead, with Han in the middle. The trooper lagged behind, making sure none of the hunters stayed by the landing bay to take them at the rear. The bay lobby was mercifully empty, but the telltale howling of alarm klaxons warned the trio of the impending arrival of local authorities. They didn't have much time, between the hunters and the police. The cranky customs officer peeked out from behind his counter, shaking like a newborn faun. Solo smiled at him cheekily as they passed.

The man just stared.

Just as they were about to reach the exit, dark shapes rushed out from outside the wide doors, coming inside the large building and pointing their weapons at the same exact time Han and the others did. The officer squealed and ducked behind his counter.

"Trapped like a stormie in a bog," the lead hunter said, smirking. The annoyingly nasally voice belonged to him, and he looked just as revolting as he sounded. He was thin, with long black hair and a hawkish nose. He had a large wart beneath his nostril, and his green eyes were alight with devilish glee. "Nowhere to run, Han Solo."

"Really? Because I see plenty of wide, open spaces." Han's voice sounded confident, but the tiny way his gun arm shook didn't comfort the Rookie one bit. Chewbacca snarled, saliva dripping from his fangs.

The man curled his thin lips in distaste. "Nasty beast. We'll make sure to put you in chains where you belong."

Chewbacca's snarl intensified. Han furrowed his brow, the tremble of his arm subsiding. "You watch your mouth around my friend, sleamo."

The man smiled, and it wasn't pretty. His teeth were chipped and yellow. "My name is Volta Ju'kar. And I will restore honor to my family's name by bringing in all three of you to Jabba the Hutt."

Han actually barked out a laugh. Volta stiffened. "What's so funny?" he growled.

"Ju'kar? Vollo's older brother, right? Well. You're not as pretty as he was, I can tell you that. Shame he had his office building blown up in Tatooine. Always liked the guy, you know? In the lethal, hateful kind of way."

Volta's face turned red with rage. "I cannot tell you how much I will enjoy watching you squirm under the wrath of Jabba."

"Hm. You think he'd let me be one of his dancers? Good pay, I hear, if you manage to not get thrown to the rancor. And I bet I'd look good in that cute, two-piece outfit. Hell, maybe I'll dance for you, Volta, one night only."

Volta exhaled through his nose. His gun hand was twitching, like he desperately wanted to blow Han's brains out. "I will give you one last request, if you're willing to shut your mouth and hear me out that is, you insolent brat."

Han grinned and cupped his ear, leaning forward.

Volta smirked. "I'll let you and the wookie live, but on one condition: give up the Rookie."

The assured smile vanished from Han's face. He flinched, as if struck. The Rookie turned to look at the smuggler, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He wasn't actually…afraid, was he? Afraid that Han would give in? After all, the smuggler had no concrete reason to keep the ODST with him. Sure, he was handy in a fight, but that against saving his own skin?

"Fact of the matter is, Solo," Volta sneered. "The Hutt wants the man in black more than you. You're not as valuable as he is. Hunters all across the galaxy are coming for him, and as long as you're sharing bunks, your life's going to be a living hell. Take the easy way out and give him up."

Han swallowed, and the Rookie could see the gears working behind his dark, narrowed eyes. Chewbacca leaned over and growled something in his ear, but Solo shook his head as if warding off a mosquito. The standoff was silent, charged with that familiar tension. A bead of sweat traveled down the bridge of the Rookie's nose.

Han nodded.

_Damn it. _The Rookie lifted his blaster, feeling curiously empty and numb inside. If this was how it would end, then he'd take out as many bastards as he could before his blaster overheated and he was left defenseless. He'd show these bounty hunters how exactly he'd taken care of the Covenant that had stood in his way on the dark streets of New Mombasa.

Han spat on the lobby tiles again, startling the Rookie.

"It's a take-one, get-two more offer, Volta. Sorry to disappoint, but he's with me."

Volta scowled.

The Rookie felt strangely…relieved. And he couldn't decide if he liked the feeling or not.

"Have it your way," Volta grumbled like a child who just found a lump of coal under the Christmas tree. He carelessly waved a hand. "Men…open fire."

The Rookie did it first.

His first shot took Volta Ju'kar right between the eyes. He fell like a rock, but with less grace. He'd felled two more before the other hunters realized that the tables had suddenly turned. Curses in different languages spewed from their mouths as they lifted their weapons and fired at the three. But Han and Chewbacca were faster. They were always faster.

The trio moved fluidly, the Rookie like he'd been working with them for years. They took up separate cover positions in the span of two seconds, firing relentlessly at the isolated and leaderless hunters bunched up by the exit. They fell like grain stalks under a scythe, their previous bravado replaced by crippling fear. Han yee-hawed as he primed his grenade launcher. The resulting explosion incinerated one hunter unlucky enough to be closest to Han Solo. Some tried to run away, but by that point it was a veritable turkey shoot.

In the end, of the thirty-one bounty hunters that arrived with the vengeful Volta Ju'kar, none left the area alive.

When it was over, and the adrenaline had been expended, the Rookie silently slumped against the counter. Chewbacca's breathing was labored, and Han was almost lying down on the floor. Burned flesh stung the Rookie's scent once more, but this time he wasn't even remotely revolted. He had a feeling he'd be well acquainted with it in due time.

They heard the sirens and saw the speeders approach outside the port windows, but they were too exhausted to care. The Rookie stood, pushing himself to run, but when he saw that Han and Chewbacca weren't going anywhere, he stopped.

And for some bizarre reason, he decided to stay.

"Thank you, Chewbacca," he said, finally. "Thank you…Han."

Chewbacca warbled weakly, his tone neutral.

Han looked up from his resting place and offered the Rookie a small smile. "It's nothing…James."

James. It was a curious name for those in this galaxy, and the Rookie was amused at how awkward it sounded from the Corellian's lips. The wookie merely grunted and sat down, cradling his bowcaster like a newborn.

The Rookie was about to sit and wait to be cuffed when a hand clasped his shoulder. He whirled and brought his gun to bear, but a firm hand stayed his weapon. The crankiness had left the face of the customs officer, and instead he possessed a calm fortitude, an almost noble aura about him. He had strong features, and thick, dark eyebrows over light gray eyes. The officer smiled, and it was a friendly one.

"Sorry about earlier," he said, his voice deep and warm. "I wasn't sure if I should've helped out or anything, but it seemed like you guys had it handled. I was instructed to lay low, so the Cowardly Customs Officer suited just fine for me this time."

Han glared daggers at him and found the strength to get on his hands and knees. "Who in all nine hells are you?"

The man's smile widened. "The name's Wedge Antilles," he said quickly, as if he was used to saying it. Albeit the smoky, corpse-filled lobby wasn't exactly a premier bar or social gathering. His eyes strayed to the approaching Imperial soldiers outside the dark port lobby. "X-Wing pilot and Galactic Rebel. Luke said you were his friends."

Han blinked. "L-Luke?" he stammered. "The farm boy?"

Wedge chuckled. "The royal boytoy's more like it. Speaking of, Her Excellency wants a word with you three. That is, if you're willing to comply. I see you're expecting company…?"

Chewbacca warbled. He moved with surprising speed and hauled a shocked Han onto his shoulder. The wookie nodded at Wedge. The rebel nodded back and looked to the Rookie. "So. You up for it?"

"Hold on, kid, this is going way too fast-"

James nodded. He was grateful that the silver faceplate hid his features, because the ridiculous grin on his face would've been a baffling sight to see. "When do we leave?"

The storm troopers burst into the lobby, rifles up. They caught sight of the four strange individuals and stared with dumfounded silence. Wedge reached under the counter, pulled out a grenade, and threw it into the midst of the Empire's finest. He started to flee.

"Well now's a good time as any. Run!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ugh. Could've done so much better with this, especially since you guys waited so long. *Sigh* Oh well. Update soon? Hopefully, I guess, if my muse is up for it. But don't expect a hasty post (which is funny because I remember saying that for Benigno Numine and I ended up updating it the next day). Writer's block is a total killjoy, and on top of that, I'm moving out. Lots of crap going on, but hey. Never tell me the odds. 'Til next time. **


End file.
